


A Little Lost

by exclamation



Series: The Long Way Round [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Eventual Sterek, It's a time travel story so it can be both pre and post canon, M/M, Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Canon, Supernatural Creatures, Time Travel, post 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-17 22:50:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 73,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1405480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exclamation/pseuds/exclamation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A magical accident sends Stiles back in time. Now he's stuck in New York, living with Derek and Laura, and the only way to get back to his own time is to learn to use magic. Meanwhile, he must figure out how much he can tell them about their future. Can he warn them about the dangers they face? Can he change his own past? </p><p>And can he trust the creature known as Bookworm, who seems to know him better than he knows himself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The woods were a roar of violence. About two dozen of the furry, flying things swarmed around what was probably their queen. Each of the little creatures couldn’t be more than a foot tall, held aloft by insect like wings. They should have looked ridiculous, but they had teeth and claws enough to keep Stiles from laughing. 

The queen was at least twice the size of the others, staring at Stiles was malice in her eyes. Scott leapt towards the queen again, but she flittered away and three of the drones launched an attack at Scott’s face. Werewolf claws scratched at the things, but they were too fast. Stiles wondered how they were supposed to fight these annoying buzzy things if they wouldn’t stay still. 

One of them flew at him again. He brought his hands up to shield his face and claws scraped into the skin of his arms. He ducked away from the attack, still shielding his face with one bleeding arm, and groping around on the ground for a stick or something to use as a weapon since he’d dropped his baseball bat. His hand closed over something, a stick of surprisingly smooth wood. He stood up, swinging what he held towards the attacking creature. 

“Stiles! Don’t touch that!” 

Stiles turned towards the voice, seeing Derek running through the trees. Where the hell had he come from? 

The flying things were attacking again, claws scraping into the back of Stiles’ head. Stiles spun round, swinging wildly with the stick in his hand, which he now saw was carved and polished. Golden light flowed along the carvings in the wood. He let go quickly and watched the stick fall, leaving trails of golden energy floating in the air behind it. 

A wave of dizziness overwhelmed him and for a moment his vision blurred. He blinked away the confusion and his first thought was that Derek had gone. So had the Scott and the flying creatures. So had the trees. 

Stiles stood in a dark street between the pools of streetlamps, staring at the face of a woman who looked as surprised to see him as he was to be there. He knew that face. He’d seen it only once, but the memory had been branded into his nightmares. 

“Laura Hale?” 

She took a step towards him, still looking confused. Stiles took a step back, because distance was good when facing confused werewolves, but his foot didn’t seem to be working when it met sidewalk again. His legs felt wobbly. In fact, the whole damn world seemed to be going wobbly. 

***

Derek was reading in his room when he heard the front door of the apartment open and his sister call for him to get out there. He heard a second heartbeat and he hurried into the main living area, surprised to see a guy in his sister’s arms. The smell of fresh blood filled the room, nearly overwhelming. The guy was in a bad way. He looked like a teenager, probably a couple of years younger than Derek, his clothes and skin scratched and torn, brown hair clotted with red. 

“Who is he?” Derek asked. 

“No idea,” Laura said. “Go down to the drug store and get some first aid supplies. Are the chains still in the trunk in your room?” 

“You’re going to chain him up and patch him up? Shouldn’t you pick one or the other?” 

Laura gave him the family glare, “Drug store, now.” 

Derek shrugged, grabbing him wallet and jacket from his room. There was a shop down the street but when he got there, Derek realised he wasn’t sure what he needed. He wasn’t used to first aid supplies. In the end, he grabbed a plastic box that apparently contained band aids, bandages, antiseptic, pain relievers and other such things that humans needed. Derek ignored the clerk’s attempt at small talk, wondering instead who the guy was and why Laura had brought him back to the apartment. 

Clearly he wasn’t just some victim of an attack, or she wouldn’t have asked about the chains. But if he was a hunter and Laura had been the one to hurt him, why would she want the first aid kit? 

Derek carried his purchase back up to the apartment, hoping some answers would reveal themselves. When he got there, Laura had stripped their mystery guest of his bloody shirt and attached chains to his wrists and neck. She’d secured the others ends of the chains to the legs of their kitchen table. That wouldn’t be enough to stop a werewolf, but should be enough for an injured human. She had him propped up against one of the other table legs and was cleaning up his wounds with a washcloth. 

Derek joined her and opened up the first aid kit, looking at the contents for a minute before deciding to start with the antiseptic. Laura took the washcloth to the sink to wash away some of the blood. 

“So, what happened?” Derek asked. 

“I was on my way home when he appeared out of thin air in front of me. He said my name and then collapsed.” 

Derek smeared anti-septic cream on a myriad of shallow cuts that decorated the guy’s arm. The cuts weren’t deep enough to be from werewolf claws. 

“He said your name?” 

“Yes, but I’ve never seen him before. Have you?” 

Derek took a good look at the guy. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen, with brown hair rising in messy tufts. His features were attractive in an understated way, but Derek thought he would have noticed them if he’d seen them before. He shook his head. 

“No,” he answered. 

Derek applied antiseptic to the cut on the back of the guy’s head. It seemed that was enough to make their guest stir. He flinched away from Derek’s touch, blinking his eyes open, confusion and pain mingling on his face. His eyes met Derek’s. 

“Derek?” the guy murmured. “What happened?” 

“You tell me,” Derek said, trying to hide his surprise that the guy knew his name. 

“There were furry things. Not wolfy furry things. Other furry things. There are too many furry things.” 

The guy tried to raise a hand to his face and only then did he notice the manacle around his wrist. A look of panic came over his face then as he realised he was chained up. He looked around the room, past Derek towards Laura at the sink. His eyes were wide and Derek could smell fear coming off him and hear the racing of the boy’s heart. 

“Where am I?” the boy asked. 

Laura came to stand over him, arms folded, “You seem to know who we are. Take a guess.” 

“This is your place?” 

“Yes.” 

“And... um... are the chains strictly necessary?” 

“I don’t know,” Laura said. “Maybe you should tell me who you are and how you know are names?” 

“First, could you tell me what the date is?” 

“October 3rd 2010.” 

Their mysterious guest swore under his breath before saying, “I appear to have been sent back in time.” 

Laura gave an amused sound, “As stories go, that’s a new one.” 

“It’s the truth! Can’t you listen to my heart and tell that I’m not lying?” 

Derek had been listening to the guy’s heart, but it had been pounding rapidly since almost the minute he’d woken up. With so much fear coming off him, it was difficult to tell the difference between truth and lie. 

“Your heart rate’s all over the place,” Laura said. “We’re going to need some proof.” 

The note of panic surged in the boy again, “Proof? How can I prove this? It’s not like I recorded a list of key events in case I got sent back in time. But I could tell you some stuff about you. Would that work? Erm... you’re Laura and Derek Hale. Your mom was Talia Hale but she and most of the rest of your family died when your house burned down.” 

“That’s common knowledge,” Laura said. “It doesn’t prove you know us or that you’re not an enemy.” 

“OK... OK... Something an enemy wouldn’t know... Got it! Your mom used to read you A Little Princess when you were a kid and sometimes, when you miss her, you read it again. Sometimes, you read it aloud to Derek, particularly the chapter where the dad dies and he’d never admit it, but he likes it when you do.” 

For a while, there was silence, broken only by the frantic racing of the boy’s heart. He was staring between Derek and Laura, watching to see the impact of his words. He’d been right that an enemy wouldn’t know that. No one knew that. The book was a private thing shared between Derek and his sister, for when they were alone in their grief. He’d never told anyone and he was sure Laura hadn’t either. He couldn’t image ever telling anyone. 

“How did you know that?” Laura asked. 

The boy swallowed, clearly thinking hard about how to answer. 

“There was a bad day,” he said. “A really, really bad day. I went to check that Derek was OK and I walked in on him reading that book. He told me why. After he threatened to rip my throat out if I ever told anyone.” 

Laura made an amused noise, “That sounds like Derek.” 

Derek shot her a glare. 

Laura ignored him, “So how did you end up here?” 

“I have no idea. We heard stories about some furry creatures being seen so... a friend wanted to check it out in case there was a rogue omega in town. Instead, we found a swarm of... I have no idea what they were. I picked up what I thought was a stick to hit them with only now I’m thinking it was more like a magic wand. Or something. Honestly, all I know about time travel I picked up from Back To The Future, which I doubt is the most reliable source.” 

Derek didn’t know anything about time travel. Until today, he hadn’t believed it was possible. He still wasn’t sure it was possible; there was still a very strong possibility that this guy was lying through his teeth. He looked to Laura, who beckoned him to the other side of the room where they could speak in low tones. If the boy really was human, which he seemed to be, then he wouldn’t be able to hear them. 

“What do you think?” she asked. 

Derek shrugged, “Just because he knows stuff about us doesn’t mean we should trust him.” 

Laura nodded, “And without knowing more about whether time travel is really possible, we can’t know if he’s telling the truth. He doesn’t have any weapons or wolfsbane on him. I say we keep him here tonight and then go see BW in the morning.” 

Derek nodded his agreement and then Laura went to repeat all this to their unexpected guest. 

“And the chains?” the boy asked. 

Laura hesitated. She looked over at the boy, presumably weighing up the odds of him being dangerous. If he were entirely human, Derek didn’t think he could be much of a threat. But that was a big if. 

“The chains stay on,” Laura said. 

“Oh come on! Either one of you could take me with your hands tied behind your back. I won’t do anything. I promise.” 

Laura answered with a silent glare, frowning down at the boy. The boy didn’t seem particularly intimidated by it. 

“Did your mom sit you all down in front of a mirror to practice that expression?” he asked. “Or does it come with the werewolf genes? You know, go all furry once a month and gain the ability to do the death glare thing with the eyebrows.” 

Derek bit down a laugh at the concept of death glare eyebrows. He would have to use that phrase the next time Laura tried the look on him. Rather than be seen laughing, Derek headed into his bedroom, going for the top shelf of his closet where there was a spare blanket. If they were leaving the boy chained up all night, he should have something to make him a bit more comfortable. Derek carried it back out to the living area, detouring to the couch to grab a cushion. 

“Thanks,” the boy said when Derek tossed them to him. 

“What’s your name?” Derek asked, because he couldn’t just keep thinking about this guy as the boy. 

“Erm... Adam.” 

His heart fluttered as he said it. His skin prickled with sweat. Added to the fact that he’d paused far too long before answering and Derek was absolutely certain the boy had just lied. Everything in his posture implied that he hadn’t given his real name. On the other hand, the fact that he was so obvious about lying was a good sign that he’d been honest about the rest. 

“Try to get some sleep, ‘Erm Adam’,” Derek said.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles didn’t really get any sleep. It wasn’t just that it was difficult to get comfortable while chained to a table on a kitchen floor. He kept thinking about what might happen here. He’d come back in time, back to before all the madness with the supernatural had started. He kept thinking about that scene in Back To The Future where the main character started fading away because he’d changed the timeline. OK, so Stiles couldn’t stop himself being born, but he could change it so that he didn’t have a future to go back to. 

But maybe he should change things? He’d been given a wonderful opportunity. Knowing what he knew of the future, he could warn Derek about Peter, about Deucalion, about Darach, about the Nogitsune. He could save Heather and Allison and everyone who’d died. 

But what if by trying to change things, he made things worse? If he told them about Peter, Derek might go confront him. It had taken all of them to stop him last time. Peter might kill Derek and change everything. That would stop Jackson becoming the kanima, but what about all the people Peter killed? Or might go on to kill? And then there might be no one left to stop Jennifer Blake from killing whoever she wanted. 

And what about Cora? Stiles had no idea where she was in this time, just that her life had really sucked before Derek found her again. If Stiles changed the future, Deucalion might never bring Cora to Beacon Hills and she could be stuck in whatever hell she was currently experiencing. 

Stiles didn’t know if anything he said would make things better or worse. He just lay there, his thoughts running in circles about the people he should help and the ways it could all go horribly wrong. 

Sometime in the middle of the night, he came to the conclusion that he would do nothing. He would keep his mouth shut about the future. At least for now. If he could come up with a way to warn Derek and Laura without risking the bad stuff, then he would tell them. Until then, he would keep what he knew to himself. After all, it would be easier to tell them something later than to untell them if he told them now. 

He managed to doze for a little bit, wrapped up in the blanket on the kitchen floor. He was woken from his uneasy slumber when Derek came into the room. He was wearing only loose sweatpants, his torso bare. God, those muscles should be illegal. Derek walked over to the coffee maker and Stiles watched the smooth muscles of his back moving under his skin as Derek reached up to the top shelf for a mug, the dark lines of the tattoo showing clear against the smooth skin. Then Derek went to the fridge, bending down to get the milk and Stiles got a clear view of the tight ass through the fabric of those pants. 

Derek turned to look at him with a smirk. 

“Enjoying the view?” Derek asked. 

Stiles gabbled something that in no way resembled language and he scrambled to a sitting position, pulling the blanket up in front of him so that Derek wouldn’t see the effect the view had had. Stiles’ brain had apparently stopped functioning and he couldn’t think of anything to say. Stiles tried to tell himself that this was weird and wrong because this was _Derek_! Plus, time travel accidents aside, the age difference was too big. 

Then Derek laughed. 

The smile lit up his face and the sound that came out was far too cheerful for him. Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard Derek laugh. He couldn’t remember _ever_ having heard Derek laugh. It must have happened at some point, but right now his mind kept running up a blank. Derek poured out his coffee and stared at Stiles, who was still trying to get his brain to process the sight of Derek apparently happy. 

“Have I got something on my face?” Derek asked. 

“A smile,” Stiles said because apparently his brain was still not working. The last time he’d seen Derek smile like that, he’d been flirting with Miss Blake, before any of them had realised she was a psycho. 

“Quit staring at me like that,” Derek said, back to his trademark scowl. Stiles felt considerably more comfortable with that. He didn’t know how to deal with a cheerful Derek, but an angry Derek was familiar territory. 

“Do prisoners get coffee?” Stiles asked. 

Derek grabbed a second mug, “You want breakfast too?” 

“Five star establishment you’re running here.” 

Derek stuck some bread in the toaster. Stiles sat on the kitchen floor sipping his coffee while he waited. His brain definitely needed the caffeine boost. Derek made himself busy getting plates and knives and the like, but he kept glancing back towards Stiles, his expression unreadable. 

At last, Derek spoke, “So we know each other in the future?” 

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “Not well or anything, but we’ve helped each other out a few times.” 

“With what?” 

Stiles shook his head, “I’m not going to tell you too much about the future because I don’t know if it will change things. I want to still have a future to go back to.” 

Derek nodded and went to retrieve the toast that popped out of the machine. They ate in silence and Stiles wondered if he should bring up the subject of the chains again. He quickly realised he’d have to. 

“Erm,” he said, “I’m going to need the bathroom.” 

Derek looked at him for a long while, probably trying to figure out if this was a trick. Then he walked through one of the doors that led off the main living area. He returned a minute later with a key and a shirt. 

“Your shirt was pretty messed up,” Derek explained. He crouched beside Stiles to unlock the cuffs and collar. The instant Stiles was free, he hurried away through the bathroom door, still clutching the blanket around him. 

***

Derek could hear the shower and the sounds of not-actually-called-Adam getting himself clean. He was half-surprised he didn’t hear more than that after the scent of arousal wafting up from him, but he supposed that if Adam knew about werewolf hearing, not to mention the werewolf sense of smell, he probably wouldn’t do that in their shower. 

Derek was still trying to figure this guy out. The attraction was obvious and Adam hadn’t even tried to hide it. Plus he knew about A Little Princess. No one knew about that book. Was Adam his boyfriend in the future? 

Adam eventually came out of the bathroom. From the lack of steam, Derek guessed the shower must have been a cold one. The shirt was too big for him and gave him a sort of vulnerable look and his damp hair was tousled in such a way as to make Derek think of bed. 

Derek dismissed that thought and said, “We should go see BW.” 

“What about Laura?” 

“She’s got work this morning.” Derek went to get his jacket and then remembered that all the stuff about boyfriends was pure speculation. It was also possible that Adam was working for hunters and that his knowledge had come out in some other way. 

“If you try anything,” Derek warned, “I will tear you to pieces.” 

Adam swallowed, “Duly noted.” 

There was fear there, just a trace of it. Derek wondered at that. If Adam really was his future boyfriend, then he wouldn’t be afraid. Would he? Unless he was scared because he didn’t know how Derek would react because of not knowing him. Derek could spend all day second-guessing himself. 

Derek ushered Adam out of the apartment and shut the door a little harder than he meant to. He stomped down the stairs, hearing Adam hurrying to keep up. Would it kill the guy to give straight answers? 

“So, who’s this BW person?” Adam asked as they emerged onto the early morning street. A few people were about, mostly heading to work. Derek gave Adam a surprised look. 

“You know about,” he dropped his voice, “werewolves in New York but you don’t know BW?” 

“I’ve never been in New York before.” 

That caught Derek by surprise and Adam seemed to realise it from the way he cringed and muttered, “I should just keep my mouth shut.” 

So Adam knew him in the future, but not in New York? Derek had always figured he’d stay here for good. The only other place he’d considered home was Beacon Hills and Derek had no intention of ever going back there. Too many bad memories. They’d made their fresh start and he’d thought it would be for good, but he supposed if Laura got a better job offer somewhere else, they might move. Or maybe she’d decide she wanted somewhere with space if she found someone to raise her own little pack of werewolf pups with. 

He guessed he’d find out when it happened. 

“BW knows about just about everything,” Derek said. “Be polite and you should get answers.” 

Adam nodded. Derek led the way down a few more streets to the bookshop. It stood on the corner, at a basement level. A flight of steps led down from the street to the quiet store. There was no name out front, no flashy adverts to pull in potential customers. There was just a small sign on the door inviting inside all those who sought enlightenment.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but a gloomy second-hand bookstore hadn’t been it. Shelves of old books stretched away under dim lights towards the counter at the back where a young woman was reading what appeared to be a baby’s picture book. She glanced up and greeted them with a smile. 

“What can I help you with?” she asked. 

“We’re looking for something on magic and time travel,” Derek answered. 

“The sci-fi and fantasy section is over there,” she pointed towards a set of shelves and turned back to her reading. She finished with the picture book and put it aside, picking up in its place a heavy hardback that could serve as a doorstop. She flipped it open to the first page and started reading. 

“No, Worm, we’re looking for something non-fiction,” Derek said. 

Stiles leaned in and whispered in his ear at werewolf volumes, “What happened to being polite?” 

Derek gave him an amused look, “That’s her name. This is the Bookworm.” 

She nodded to Stiles over the ridiculously thick tome. 

“You want to know about time travel?” she asked. 

“Yes.” 

She put aside the book and then vaulted over the counter with no apparent effort. Stiles wondered if she was a werewolf or something else entirely. She walked over to him and sniffed. Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, it took all Stiles’ resolve to stay still and let her. Eventually, she returned to the counter. 

“You don’t have the power to pull off something like that,” she said. 

“It wasn’t my spell,” Stiles said. Bookworm made a sweeping gesture with her hand, encouraging him to explain. “There were a bunch of furry things about this big,” he held out his hands, “with wings. They were swarming around a bigger one. They were humanoid but with sharp claws on their hands and feet.” 

Bookworm nodded along until Stiles trailed off. Then she leapt up a bookshelf behind the counter. She scurried up it, hands and feet using the shelves like a ladder, until she reached the top shelf. She picked up a huge book and then climbed down. Even with one hand occupied, she climbed down as easily as walking down the stairs. Stiles glanced at Derek, who seemed completely unphased by this. Bookworm set the book on the counter and opened it to a page near the back. 

Stiles walked over to the counter and looked at it, seeing a woodcut illustration. The picture showed a cluster of those little scratchy things. 

“That’s them,” Stiles said. 

“They’re a form of fairy,” Bookworm said. 

“Fairies? I admit I don’t know much about fairies, but I’d always pictured them as mini girls in tutus hanging around flowers.” 

“Flower fairies are just one type. There are whole species of fairies, some more dangerous than others. These ones are basically pests, easily scared off by fire. They don’t have much in the way of magical abilities, but they can open portals between this world and the fairy realms and time there doesn’t always flow at the same rate as in this world. If you stumbled through one of their portals, it could be that a few seconds passed for you while much longer was passing for everyone else, which would feel like time travel.” 

Stiles had read enough books involving magic that he wasn’t surprised to learn that other realms had a different flow of time, but it didn’t explain what had happened to him. He told Bookworm that, explaining that he’d come back in time by a few years. She looked puzzled. 

“The buzzers couldn’t do that,” she said. “Was there any other magic going on?” 

“I think so.” Stiles carried on his story, explaining about picking up the carved stick and the glowing light. 

“That doesn’t make sense,” she said. 

“You’ve not come across something like that?” 

“Of course I have. It sounds like a wand. Druids and witches use them for their rituals, but each wand is intrinsically linked to its creator. You wouldn’t be able to use someone else’s wand.” 

“I didn’t do a spell. It just kind of went off when I picked it up. Maybe someone left it as a trap.” 

Bookworm didn’t look convinced, “I’ve never heard of someone using a wand without physical contact. It would take an enormous amount of power.” 

Darach. They’d never figured out what happened to her body. She certainly had power and Stiles could believe that she’d set a trap for them, probably hoping to catch Scott in it. That meant that Scott could be all alone in the future, facing down a powerful druid psychopath. 

“How do I undo the spell?” Stiles asked. 

Bookwork shook her head, “You can’t undo what hasn’t been done yet.” 

“So I’m stuck here?” 

She shrugged, “You could get back to your own time the long way round. Or you could try taking a shortcut through the fairy realms, but that’s risky. Aside from the fact that some of the denizens don’t like outsiders, you risk overshooting and arriving a century or so late. You could try performing a spell of your own.” 

“I thought you said I didn’t have enough power for that? I mean, the closest I’ve ever come to doing magic is creating a mountain ash barrier.” 

“If you exercise your powers, you can strengthen them,” Bookworm said, “and there are times of the year that magic comes easier, places that you can draw strength from, ways that you can multiply your gifts.” 

Stiles thought about Darach and all she’d done to grow her strength. 

“You’d better not be talking about sacrificing people,” Stiles said. 

“Blood rites are the most immediate option, but there are subtler methods. You could start by creating a wand of your own.” 

Bookworm reached for a low shelf and pulled out another huge book, opening it to the appropriate chapter without hesitation. Stiles looked at it. It seemed to be instructions, written in archaic English, to teach a magical practitioner how to create their own wand. 

“Could I take this book?” Stiles asked. 

Bookworm hissed. Her eyes changed, shifting until they were yellow and slitted. Snake eyes. Stiles thought of the kanima and recoiled in shock. 

Suddenly Derek was there, pushing himself in between Stiles and the Bookworm. 

“He meant borrow,” Derek said quickly. “You’ll get it back.” 

As quickly as the change had happened, it was gone. The Bookworm looked like an ordinary young woman again. She smiled brightly. 

“Of course,” she said, “but I’ll need something in exchange.” 

“OK. I’ll bring you something later today.” 

Derek grabbed Stiles by the shoulder and steered him out of the shop. Stiles was still in shock. He looked back towards the shop when they were safely out on the sidewalk. 

“What the hell was that?” he asked. 

“A lot of the books behind the counter are unique. She doesn’t react well to people trying to take them from her.” 

“I thought that was a bookshop.” 

“Not everything’s for sale. The books behind the counter are her personal hoard.” 

Derek started walking back towards the apartment and Stiles followed along beside him. They’d walked less than a block when Derek started talking, catching Stiles a little by surprise. He wasn’t used to Derek starting the conversation. 

“When she talked about growing power, you assumed she meant human sacrifices. Why?” 

Stiles cringed inwardly. So much for not letting Derek know too much about his future. He had to say something, so he thought for a moment about an answer that was honest but not too revealing. 

“The only person I know powerful enough to send me back in time gets that power by killing people.” 

“Wow,” Derek said quietly. 

“Yeah. That’s why I’ve got to get back. I’ve got to make sure that my friends are OK.” 

Derek nodded. “OK. We’ll get you back, Adam.”


	4. Chapter 4

Derek let them back into the apartment, which was silent now. Laura must have left for work. 

“I’ll find something I can sacrifice,” he said. He saw Adam flinch. “Sorry, poor choice of words.” 

“What’s she after? What does she want in exchange?” 

“Another book. A second-hand one.” 

“Why second hand?” Adam asked, following Derek into his bedroom. Derek scanned his shelves looking for one that wasn’t precious. 

“Apparently people leave an impression of themselves on books when they read them. Worm can pick up on that. So when she reads a book, she’s also reading a little bit into all the people who’ve ever read it.” 

“That’s slightly creepy.” 

“It’s how she knows as much as she does.” 

The books that passed through her shop had been read by so many eyes over the years. The Bookworm had picked up pieces from each of them, adding to her store of knowledge. Derek could only imagine the sort of people who’d read the magic books over the centuries. Worm had taken something of each of them. 

Adam looked at the contents of Derek’s shelves and was suddenly distracted. 

“Hey, you read Terry Pratchett.” 

Derek supposed that was the end of the boyfriend theories, “You didn’t know that?” 

“No. Usually when we meet we’re too busy worrying about mayhem and death to talk about books. Please forget I said that.” 

Derek decided to let it go for now. He wondered though if he ought to start keeping a record of all the little slips Adam made. He might be able to use them to piece together a genuine picture of who this guy was. 

In the lull in conversation, Adam picked up a copy of Good Omens. 

“We’re not giving that to Bookworm,” Derek said. “That one’s my favourite.” 

“Mine too. It was actually the first thing I thought of when you asked me my name.” 

“You picked your fake name out of my favourite book?” 

“Apparently so.” 

Adam laughed and Derek found himself joining in. It was comforting in a way that Adam wasn’t going to pretend that he was using his real name. But Derek still couldn’t figure out the mystery of this guy. He couldn’t believe he’d know someone well enough to tell them about A Little Princess but not tell them who his favourite author was. 

He found a book he didn’t mind giving up. It was a tedious mystery with a predictable ending. Hopefully it would be good enough for BW. 

They headed back to the shop, walking in some of the way in uncomfortable silence. It seemed Adam didn’t handle silence all too well. 

“So what does Laura do for a job?” he asked. 

“She works in a dog grooming parlour.” 

“I guess that makes sense. You guys do have the whole controlling dogs super power thing.” 

“I take it she does something different in the future?” 

Derek heard Adam’s heart rate jump. The guy nearly tripped over his own feet and then, when Derek turned to look at him, he hurried his pace so that he wouldn’t have to look Derek in the eye. 

“So, Terry Pratchett, huh?” Adam said, jumping topic completely. They spent the next little bit of the walk discussing their favourites of his books. They kept up a façade of pleasantness, though it was slightly forced on both sides. Derek wanted to ask about Laura, about why Adam had reacted so violently to his question about her future, but he suspected he wouldn’t get any answers by trying to force the issue. 

It was actually quite entertaining listening to Adam talk. He would ramble on for a while about what he loved in one of the books and then suddenly swerve topics. They’d been discussing Small Gods and the parallels to organised religion in the real world, when Adam somehow got talking about the history of the Catholic church, detouring to discuss some parody film about fallen angels. Derek had been listening but he wasn’t sure how they ended up on the subject of early Christians appropriating pagan festivals for their holy days. 

It was worse than talking to BW. She had the same sort of encyclopaedic knowledge, but at least she stayed on topic. 

“Are you always like this?” Derek asked. 

“Usually I take medication that helps me stay focused,” Adam said, catching on to what Derek meant. “Sorry. Let me know if it bothers you and I can shut up.” 

They’d reached BW’s shop now, so Derek led the way down the stairs. Bookworm was at the counter, still reading the big thick book she’d started earlier, but now she was nearly half-way through it. She looked up when they came in. 

“You have something for me?” she asked. 

Derek walked over to the counter and held out the mystery novel. Adam hung back near the door, perhaps nervous of being close to her after her reaction earlier. He was making a pretence of scanning the titles in the sci-fi section. 

BW took the book from Derek. She closed her eyes and held the book close to her face, sniffing deeply, as though she could absorb the power of the words through her nose. This was her usual reaction to any new book. She opened her eyes and opened the book to the first page, running her fingers over the words as she read. Then she glanced up at Derek. 

“You didn’t enjoy this one much, did you?” she asked with a smile. 

Derek saw no point in lying, “Not really.” 

He glanced over at Adam, who was still looking at the selection in the sci-fi and fantasy section. Maybe if he got Adam a book he wanted to read, BW would be able to give some insights into his character. At the very least, she might be able to tell if he was an enemy or ally. Derek went over to join him. 

“Do you want to get one?” Derek asked, doing his best to sound casual about it. 

“Are you sure? I don’t have any money to pay for it.” 

“Pay me back in the future.” 

Adam grinned, “Sure. That would be great.” He ran his eyes over the shelves again. “Oh! She has the Dresden Files books.” 

“The what?” 

Adam looked at him in surprise, “They’re about a wizard who solves crimes. Some of them have werewolves in.” 

“I don’t tend to read books about werewolves,” Derek said. “They’re generally portrayed as monsters.” 

“Not these ones. These ones are cool. They play D&D.” 

“I think by definition, those two are mutually exclusive.” 

Adam gave him an amused glare, saying, “Well we can’t all be badass and brooding.” He picked one of the books off the shelf and followed Derek back to the counter, where Bookworm and brought out the book on magic she’d shown them earlier. Derek handed over a couple of dollars for the novel and BW put both the books in a canvas bag, placing them into it with referent care. 

“I will get my book back,” she said, “or I will track you down and eat your eyeballs. Both of you.” 

Adam took half a step behind Derek. 

“You’ll get the book back,” Derek promised. 

On the way out of the shop, Adam asked, “Does she mean it about the eyeballs?” 

“I’ve never put it to the test.” 

Derek was actually highly doubtful that BW would hurt anyone, but damaging one of her precious books was probably the thing that would flip her over the edge. Whether the threats were serious didn’t matter though; Derek wasn’t going to anger the most reliable source of information on all things supernatural. 

They made it less than a block when Adam started talking again. Derek was starting to think that he was physically incapable of staying silent for more than two minutes together. 

“Thanks again for getting me the book. Not just the magic book, I mean. Though I guess they’re both magic books. I mean... just thanks.” 

“No problem.” 

“It’s kinda fitting, in a way.” 

“How so?” 

“You actually got me into this series. You gave me a copy of the first book as a thank you for helping you out with,” Derek heard the sharp spike in Adam’s heart rate, but he kept talking smoothly, “some family stuff.” 

“So I give you books in the future?” 

“A book. It was a one-time thing. Kinda freaked me out actually.” 

“You get freaked out by people giving you books?” 

“The way you did it. You broke into my bedroom, which you do way too much, by the way, and I thought you were going to, I dunno, kill me or something. And then you just handed me this package, staring at me with your usual death glare eyebrows. I had no clue what was going on and then you said it was a thank you present and then climbed out the window.” 

The rapid torrent of words flowed over Derek, but his mind caught on one piece in particular. 

“I break into your bedroom too often?” 

“Not my bedroom. Well, yes, my bedroom, but bedrooms in general. You’re always sneaking around and lurking in corners and climbing in windows. I mean, seriously dude, do you have an allergic reaction to front doors or something?” 

“No, I’m not allergic to doors.” Derek was both amused and bewildered. He didn’t think he’d ever broken into someone’s bedroom. Well, Laura’s, but that didn’t count. It probably didn’t help that he lived in New York and it would be difficult to scale an apartment building without being spotted. 

“I’m talking way too much again,” Adam said. “I should just... sew my mouth shut or something.” 

“You could,” Derek said, “but then you wouldn’t be able to eat lunch.” 

He nodded to an organic soup place that they were passing. It was one of Derek’s favourite places to eat because the food didn’t taste of preservatives and chemicals. Adam started laughing at some inner joke. 

“Derek Hale is buying me presents and taking me out to lunch. I’ve not gone back in time, I’ve fallen into bizarro world.” 

“Do you want to eat or not?” 

“Of course I want to eat. I always want to eat.” 

They ordered their soup and took it to a little corner table. It was still early, so the place was quiet. Derek stared at Adam as he ate, astonished that the boy didn’t choke as he managed to talk and eat at the same time. 

“This stuff is good,” Adam said, munching through a thick chicken and vegetable soup. “I meant, this stuff is really good. I should see if I can steal the recipe or something because my dad might actually eat his vegetables without complaining if I gave him something like this. My dad and I have this on-going war about this diet. He thinks curly fries are a suitable substitute for vegetables. I definitely need to get this recipe or maybe kidnap the chef or something. I’m kidding about that, by the way. I don’t actually approve of kidnapping. Unless they’re being possessed by a supernatural evil and you’re trying to stop them killing people, in which case, you gotta do what you gotta do.” 

Derek wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get from vegetable soup to supernatural evil within the span of about a minute. Adam caught himself mid flow and gave Derek a puzzled look. 

“You’re staring at me, dude,” Adam said. 

“How do you manage to talk and eat without choking?” Derek asked. 

Adam shrugged, “Practice. But I think I need to start carrying a supply of my meds around with me in case of time travel mishaps because I swear I’m not usually this bad.” 

“When I meet you in the future, maybe I’ll remind you.” 

Adam laughed, “That would be kind of weird.” 

“And the rest of this isn’t?” 

“That is a very excellent point.”


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles was once again wishing he had a supple of Adderall with him as he tried to concentrate on a book that made Shakespeare seem like light reading. It was all interesting stuff, but the language was archaic and the writer was long-winded. Stiles had to read the page about energy flows three times before he thought he got it. 

There was a whole chapter on making wands. Apparently every wand was constructed by the magic user who wielded it. The act of creation imbued the wand with the person’s own essence, opening a conduit to the spirit world and meaning that no one else could ever use another person’s wand. Creating a wand took time and focus and careful meditation. Which was really bad news because focus wasn’t something Stiles was good at, at least not without a steady supply of medication. Plus he would need wood and carving tools and herbs. Stiles sat on Derek’s couch, making notes of all the things he’d need to get hold of, but it wasn’t even that simple. 

According to the book, every choice had to be a conscious decision that would instil purpose to the wand. He couldn’t just grab a random stick of wood. He had to choose the right wood. He had to choose the right symbols. He had to bless the wand four times during a lunar cycle, under the light of a half moon, a full moon, the half again and then finally under the new moon, the time for new beginnings. That meant it would take a minimum of a month to get a working wand and even then he still had to figure out how to work the time travel spell. 

He stood up and paced a bit around the coffee table, running his hands through his hair. He didn’t know if he was up for this. A mountain ash barrier was one thing, but this was serious magic here and if he screwed up he’d have to start right back at the beginning again. 

“Are you OK?” 

“Gah!” Stiles jumped, spinning round to see Derek standing in the doorway of his bedroom. 

“You have got to stop sneaking up on people, Derek!” 

“Sorry,” Derek said, a laugh in his tone that was disconcertingly unfamiliar. “So, are you alright?” 

“Yeah. I just... I’m going to need some supplies. Do you know somewhere I can get wood?” 

“You want me to give you wood?” Derek was still looking amused, his tone half-mocking. “I can’t say I’m surprised, given the way you were staring at me this morning.” 

Stiles realised the innuendo in what Derek had just said and he cringed inwardly. 

“I didn’t mean it like that. For the wand. I need it for the wand.” Derek was quietly laughing. Stiles glared. “I hate you so much right now.” 

The laughter died. Derek took a step towards him. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t trying to be mean. It was just a joke.” 

He looked actually hurt. Stiles didn’t know how to react to that. He was used to Derek being locked in his own emotional armour. He wouldn’t have imagined that anything he could say would hurt him. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said. “I didn’t mean it that way. It was just with the teasing and... Look, I don’t hate you.” 

“Good.” 

Stiles was slightly surprised to realise that was the truth. He didn’t hate Derek. After everything they’d been through, there was a lot of complexity to their situation, but there wasn’t hate there. It was hard to hate a guy who’d stood between him and an angry alpha, or who’d stopped Isaac from clawing him to pieces, or who’d done any of the things Derek had done. 

“I need you to come here,” Derek said. 

He gestured to the kitchen table. 

“Sure,” Stiles said. “Why?” 

He crossed the room, heading the small table in the middle of the kitchen area. Derek pulled out one of the chairs. 

“Sit down,” Derek said. 

“You know, when someone asks you a question, the normal thing to do is to answer it,” Stiles said, but he sat down anyway, because Derek had suddenly gone all serious. 

Derek grabbed Stiles’ arm and then bent down to pick up one of the chains that were still attached to the table legs. 

“Hey, wait!” Stiles protested. He tried to pull his arm out of Derek’s grip, but his hand was like a metal vice, holding him trapped. 

“Derek, come on! Derek, please. You don’t need to do this.” 

Derek got the manacle around Stiles’ wrist and snapped it shut. Stiles heard the click of a lock as it closed. Derek let go of the arm. Stiles glared up at him. 

“That hate thing is totally back on the table,” Stiles said. 

“I’m sorry, Adam, but I’ve got to go out and Laura’s not back from work yet. I’m not letting you have free access to our home.” 

Derek went and grabbed the big magic book off the coffee table. He carried it, along with the notepad and pen Stiles had been using, and placed them on the kitchen table in front of Stiles. 

“Laura should be home soon,” he said. He went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, putting it next to the book on the table. 

“What if there’s a fire?” Stiles asked. 

“Throw the water on it.” 

“Derek, come on. You don’t need to do this to me. What am I going to do?” 

“I don’t know. That’s why you’re chained up.” 

Derek ignored Stiles’ further protests, just taking his jacket and heading out there door. Stiles stayed ranting after him for some time, hoping that werewolf hearing would let his insults reach the appropriate ears. Then he sighed and leaned back in the chair. 

This wasn’t too bad, he supposed. At least he wasn’t on the floor this time and he was only chained by one wrist. He could actually stand up and pace a little if he wanted to. He could just get on with studying the book, which was what he’d have been doing anyway, but he was furious at Derek for not trusting him. Not that Derek not trusting him was exactly a new phenomenon. 

Stiles tugged at the manacle. It wasn’t going anywhere. Not unless he broke his wrist or something and he didn’t want to do that. He didn’t have werewolf healing. He checked the other end of the chain. It was looped around the table leg and locked with a sturdy padlock. There was no way in hell Stiles was going to be able to break that. He eyed up the table. The table he could work with. 

He crouched down on the floor, positioned his back under the table top and then lifted. He didn’t need to lift it far. Just enough so that he could get the chain to come out underneath it. The table was heavy, but not too bad. Even this weak and squishy human could manage it. He grinned in triumph as he pulled the chain free and then let the table drop back down with a thump. 

“Hah!” he proclaimed, to no one in particular. 

Then he stood up and wondered what now. It wasn’t like he had plans to go anywhere or do anything. He was tempted to mess with Derek’s bedroom as a bit of petty revenge, but that was probably not the best way to win trust. So Stiles settled for gathering up his stuff, along with the chain, and heading back to the couch for a more comfortable seat. He was still sitting there when the front door opened and Laura came in, carrying bags of groceries. 

“Hi,” she said. “Derek gone to work?” 

“He’s gone somewhere.” 

“I’m surprised he left you loose.” 

Stiles held up the manacled wrist, “Actually he chained me to the kitchen table. I don’t suppose you’ve got a key for this thing?” 

“You’re a regular Houdini, aren’t you?” she said. She dumped the groceries in the kitchen and then pulled a key from her pocket. 

“I’m pretty sure Houdini wouldn’t still be attached to the chain.” 

She looked at the book Stiles was studying. 

“Did BW give you something useful?” she asked. 

“I don’t know. Maybe. There’s stuff in here about making a magic wand of my own that I might be able to use to get home. I don’t know if I can make it work. She said it takes a lot of power.” 

“Well come help me with dinner and tell me what you’ve learned.” 

Laura’s cooking style wasn’t exactly gourmet, but she moved around her kitchen with practiced ease, chopping up the ingredients for a chicken casserole. Stiles followed her instructions, handing her what she needed when she asked, and otherwise just talking about what he’d read in the book. It was actually quite helpful to have to explain, because it helped get things straight in his head. He would need to create the wand as an extension of his spirit and fill it with a purpose that would define the magic it would wield. 

“So I take it this means you’ll be staying with us for a while,” she said, putting the casserole into the oven. 

“I guess so. I mean, if that’s OK with you. I don’t want to be a burden but I don’t really have anywhere else to go. I think my dad would have a heart attack if I went home and tried to explain that I was his son from the future.” Particularly since his dad wouldn’t find out about the supernatural for about another three years. 

“I guess you can sleep on the couch.”


	6. Chapter 6

The first stage in creating a wand involved choosing the right wood. Laura let him use her laptop, so Stiles spent a lot of time browsing the internet, looking for information on different woods and, in particular, their mystical properties. He wasn’t sure which websites held real information and which were nonsense. He came up with a system of consensus; if more than ten websites gave roughly the same properties, he’d accept it. He found a lot of information. There were woods that were particularly good for love spells, or spells of finding. There was even a reference to bramble being used to ward of zombies, something he hoped he’d never have to put to the test. 

For all his searching though, everything kept coming back to mountain ash. Almost every website agreed that it was useful for spells of protection, which was something Stiles would want from any magic of his. More than that, mountain ash was his contribution to the group. The rest of the pack had supernatural powers or ridiculous fighting skills. He could make a mountain ash boundary. The more research he did, the more the feeling grew. _This_ was the right choice of wood for him. 

He still had no idea what symbols to carve onto it but it felt good to have made at least one decision. He’d ordered some woodworking tools online, using Derek’s credit card, and he would have to wait until those arrived to start carving anyway. In the meantime, he could still get the rest of the materials he needed. 

He’d looked online and found a new age shop that, from its website, ought to have what was required. Derek gave him a roll of cash that should cover the costs. 

“I’m going to owe you way too much money when I get back to the future,” Stiles muttered. 

“I’ll be charging interest,” Derek said. Stiles hoped he was joking. 

“Sure you don’t want to come with me?” 

“No. I’ve got stuff to do.” 

Stiles supposed this was a sign they were starting to trust him. They’d stopped trying to chain him up whenever they went out, which was a definite improvement. He still caught Derek giving him odd looks, but that might just be him being him. 

Stiles set out for the shop, walking to avoid spending any more than necessary of Derek’s money. A part of him wanted to slow down and play the tourist, to enjoy the fact he was here in New York, but the rest of him was focused on the problem. He was here because of magic and that usually meant someone evil was behind it. That meant his friends were in danger. He couldn’t let himself forget that. 

It took him a little over an hour to reach the shop, and he opened the door into a world of crystals and twinkling music. He scanned shelves of books about chakra alignment and crystal therapy. After everything that had happened to him in the past few years, he’d given up a lot of scepticism, but he was highly dubious about the mystic wisdom of some of these brightly coloured books. He was tempted by a book on runes though, on the grounds that it might help him work out what symbols to put on the wand. He decided against it, focusing on the things he knew he needed. 

One set of shelves held a selection of herbs in small jars. Some of them could belong in any kitchen but others were a little more exotic. He spotted a tiny glass bottle, no more than an inch high, containing a bluish-purple powder. The label said wolfsbane. Another jar of black powder was labelled as mountain ash. It seemed he’d been right in thinking this shop would have something real. 

He ignored those two jars, pulling his list out of his pocket and collecting the herbs he would need for his rituals. He tried to balance them in his hands while he looked for the next items. 

“You can put things on the counter while you’re shopping,” said the woman manning the till. Stiles thanked her and set the herb bottles down, heading for a display of semi-precious stones to find a piece of white quartz. He picked up a small candle, a packet of incense and the cheapest incense holder they had available, adding them to the collection. Then he looked around the shop and failed to see the most important item of all. 

“Are you after something specific?” the shop assistant asked. 

“A length of mountain ash wood,” he said, “about so big.” He held his hands about a foot apart. 

She looked at him for a moment, then down at the collection he’d assembled on the counter. 

“Are you sure?” she asked. “Making a wand can be a very difficult and sometimes dangerous ritual. It’s not something to be undertaken likely.” 

Stiles was used to being dismissed as useless by people with super strength and magical powers, but he didn’t appreciate being patronised by some woman who didn’t know the first thing about him. 

“Look, I appreciate your concern, but I’ve faced kanimas, oni, psychopathic druids and more werewolves than I care to think about. I can handle the danger involved in making a wand.” 

The woman blinked at him in surprise. “Kanimas? Really?” 

“Well, one kanima, but let me tell you those paralysing claws really don’t mess around.” 

“Are you a hunter? You don’t often see hunters working magic.” 

“No, I’m not a hunter. Can I get the mountain ash?” 

The woman seemed to remember she was supposed to be selling him something. “Oh, of course. Let me go see what we’ve got in stock.” 

She disappeared into the back room, returning a minute later with a box filled with rods of wood, each about a foot long and an inch in diameter. They were of all different woods and no two were quite the same: different shades, different patterns of grain, slight differences in size or straightness. They each had a little sticker stating the type of wood and the price, but Stiles didn’t bother with those yet, just picking up each length of wood in turn and looking at them. 

He knew the mountain ash as soon as he picked it up, though he never would have been able to explain why. It was a lighter wood than the wand he’d picked up in the woods, but it felt right in his hands, like it belonged there. The wood was smooth and felt almost warm, especially compared to the cool touch of all the others. He knew it was the right wood for his wand and then he looked at the label and saw the scribble proclaiming it mountain ash. He didn’t care that the price was twice as much as any of the others. 

“Definitely this one,” he said. 

The shop assistant put the rest back into the box and then started to run through the transaction. Stiles watched the total rapidly climbing and was worried about how much of Derek’s loan he was about to spend. She must have seen the look on his face. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any of the kanima’s venom?” she asked. “I could offer you a really good price for it.” 

“Sorry. I don’t have any.” 

“Pity.” 

She rang up the total and Stiles paid. He just had enough money. Then took the bag of his new purchases and headed back to Derek’s place. 

***

Derek had told Adam he had something to do, but he hadn’t said what the something was. As soon as he was sure Adam had gone, he picked up the book BW had loaned them. Adam had spent so much time reading this thing with such intensity that he must have left an impression on the pages. Derek carefully put the book in a bag and then grabbed one of his own books, just in case BW wanted another sacrifice in payment for the continued loan. He walked quickly to BW’s shop and headed inside. 

Bookworm sat alone behind the counter. She looked up with a smile when he walked in. 

“You brought my book back,” she said, without needing Derek to take it out of the bag to know that. 

“We’ll still need to borrow it for a while, but Adam’s been reading it a lot. Could you read it and tell me what you learn about him? I need to know if I can trust him.” 

Derek took the book from the bag and placed it on the counter. Bookworm opened it to the chapter on wands and ran her finger along a line of text, as though reading it in braille. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, her hand resting delicately on the paper. When she opened her eyes again, they glistened. 

She started reading, eyes darting back and forth across the lines of words. Almost at once, the silent tears started to fall. She reached up and wiped them from her cheeks with the cuff of her sleeve, not taking the chance of them dropping onto a page and spoiling the book. Derek didn’t know what to make of it. When she reached the bottom of the page, she closed her eyes again and sniffled gently. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. “What did you see?” 

“Broken soul,” she whispered. “Poor little broken soul, surrounded by so much blood. He hides it all with smiles and laughter, but he’s surrounded by death and he blames himself. Poor little broken soul.” 

She opened her eyes and looked directly at Derek, a fierceness behind the tears. 

“Help him, Derek. You have to help him.” 

“Help him with what? Help him get home?” 

“He doesn’t think he deserved to be saved. He thinks that if you’d killed him, all the others wouldn’t have died.” 

A memory filled him with such intensity that Derek thought he might start crying as well. He remembered the sight of the house still smouldering, the certainty in his heart that Kate had been behind it, that he had given her all she needed to murder his family. He knew what it was like to carry the ghosts of the dead around in his soul. 

“You said,” Derek said, “that he thinks _I_ should have killed him?” 

“He doesn’t know why you didn’t. Help him see. Help him see he deserved to be saved.” 

Derek nodded. He closed the book and picked it up again, easing it into the bag. 

“Wait,” Bookworm said quickly. She turned to the shelves behind the counter, dropping to one knee and pulling out a slender volume. It was an old hardback, slimmer than the average paperback, with faded blue covers. There was a pentacle inscribed in black ink on the front cover, but no text. 

“Give this to him. It’s a book of protection spells,” Bookworm said. “He will put them to good use.” 

Derek took the book and then remembered that one he’d brought with him. 

“Do you want something for the loan?” he asked. 

She shook her head, “No. It’s a gift.” 

“You’re giving him one of your books?” Derek found that as hard to believe as if she’d declared that the sky was made of cheese. He’d known her since he’d come to New York and he’d never heard of her selling one of these books to anyone, much less giving one away. Whatever she’d read of Adam’s broken soul, it had moved her to do the unthinkable. 

There had to be something really, really special about this guy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people have started guessing about what sort of creature Bookworm is. You will find out soon.

Derek flipped through the little book of spells, trying to decide how much to tell Adam. In the end, he decided to come clean. After all, he wanted Adam to trust him and that wasn’t going to work if he kept secrets that concerned him. He was reading a section on sealing circles when the door opened, and Adam came in, carrying a heavy carrier bag in one hand. 

“Oh, hey,” Adam said with a smile. Derek could see now that it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Now that BW had told him, he wondered how he could have missed that Adam only pretended to smile, putting a brave face over the pain within. 

“You get done what you needed to do?” Adam asked, when Derek remained silent. 

“I went to see Bookworm,” Derek said. “I got her to read what you’ve been reading.” 

The bag hit the floor with a clatter. The smile died on Adam’s face. The pain lay exposed. Fear and resignation replaced all fake cheerfulness. 

“Do you want me to leave?” Adam asked. 

“Why would I want that?” 

“If she told you who I really am…” 

“She called you a broken soul,” Derek said. 

Adam gave a little huff of breath that could have been laughter or a sob. 

“Sounds about right,” he said. 

“She said something about you blaming yourself for people dying. Obviously, I don’t know the details about what happened with you, but I know a little something about holding yourself responsible for people getting hurt.” 

“This isn’t like what happened with Kate,” Adam said quickly. 

For a moment Derek was too shocked to speak. 

“How the hell do you know about Kate?” he demanded. No one knew about Kate. Not even Laura knew about Kate. 

Adam seemed to catch himself, realising he’d said something he shouldn’t. He hedged now, but Derek didn’t detect a lie. 

“It was the same time you told me about _A Little Princess_ ,” he said. “There’d been one hell of a bad day and I tried to say something comforting, tried to tell you that you weren’t responsible for what had happened. You said that it wasn’t the first time. You told me about Kate.” 

“I can’t believe I’d tell you about Kate.” 

“It wasn’t your fault, you know, what she did. She was a psychopath.” 

“Was?” 

Adam looked flustered again. This time, the lie was so obvious Derek could practically taste it. 

“I just meant that she was acting like a psychopath when she did it.” 

Derek knew that wasn’t what he’d meant at all. He’d used the past tense. That meant sometime between now and when Adam went back in time, Kate would end up dead. That was a very satisfying thought. 

Adam drew a breath, “I know why your eyes are blue too. I know about Paige.” 

“I told you that?” 

“No. Actually Peter told me that story, so I’m not entirely sure how much of what he said I believe, but I know enough.” 

Derek felt naked, vulnerable. He was a tiny bit closer to knowing Adam but now he found out that all his darkest secrets were visible. Everything he’d fought to hide, every shameful guilty piece of his past that he’d kept locked away in the deepest corners of his soul, lay exposed. Derek stood, pacing slightly, trying to sort through the storm of feelings raging inside. 

“If you know I’m a monster,” Derek said, “why would you think I’d throw you out?” 

“Because I’ve killed people!” Adam let the words out at a yell. “There’s blood on my hands from people I cared about and people I hated and people I didn’t even know! I don’t even remember most of the deaths I caused. They’re all dead and I’m still here. I’m just going on with my life like nothing ever happened and it’s not right. It’s not right.” 

Derek crossed the room, closing the distance between them. Some impulse drove him, some sympathy that had been building since he’d first seen the tears in Bookworm’s eyes. Derek put his arms around Adam and pulled him into a hug. For a moment, Adam just stood there, then he seemed to melt against Derek’s chest, wrapping his arms around Derek’s back and sobbing deeply. 

“Just kill me next time,” Adam murmured into Derek’s shoulder. “In the future, don’t try to save me. Just kill me before anyone gets hurt.” 

Derek didn’t know what to say to that. Bookworm’s words still echoed in his thoughts. 

When Adam’s sobbing calmed slightly, Derek led him to the couch and helped him sit. Derek picked up the book of spells and placed it in Adam’s hands. 

“This is from Bookworm. A present.” 

“Why would she give me a present?” 

“It’s a book of protection spells. Maybe she thought you could use them to protect other people, to make up for whatever happened by keeping other people safe.” 

Adam took the book and clutched it in one hand, holding it close to his heart. He held it there, like a child clutching a teddy bear, as he continued to cry quietly. 

***

Well, Stiles had told Derek to kill his future self and he hadn’t faded out of existence. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Maybe it meant that Derek would try to challenge the nogitsune and end up dead. 

Stiles calmed himself down eventually, feeling more than a little ashamed of the way he’d broken down. He’d just given Derek another reason to think he was weak. When he stopped crying, he’d taken a look at the book Bookworm had given him. It was a small book, but with very small font, interspersed with diagrams. He wasn’t sure how old the book was, but he could guess that it was valuable. The knowledge inside was probably more valuable still. 

The very first page talked about mountain ash, about how to create a protective barrier and the sort of creatures it would guard against. There was also a list of creatures that a barrier might slow down or block depending on power level. Some of the names he recognised, but there were others which were a complete mystery. Still, it was nice to know that he at least knew the spell which the writer had considered the most important in protective magic. 

He was looking through the other spells when Laura came home and Derek went out to work. Stiles hadn’t managed to find out where Derek worked yet, so presumably it was somewhere embarrassing. Stiles helped Laura out with dinner, cooking something that Derek could reheat on his return from work sometime in the night. This was becoming almost a routine now. 

After dinner, he cleaned up. Then Laura put a movie on and Stiles sat there, half-watching, still flicking through his book of spells. 

The symbol practically leapt off the page at him when he spotted it. According to the book, it was a druidic rune of protection, usually carved onto the doorframes of houses that the druids wanted spirits to bless. The instant Stiles saw it, he knew it felt right. 

Derek was right. He could use this book to protect people, at least until he faded out of existence because his future had changed too much, or whatever happened to him for here on in. He could learn the magic and use it to help people, to try and make amends for the damage he’d caused. And maybe, just maybe, he could change things. Maybe he wasn’t here through malice. Maybe some kindly spirit had sent him back to undo the mistakes that had led to the nogitsune’s rampage. 

But how best to do it? Should he tell Derek and Laura everything? If the future started changing from this point, he had no way of knowing what the situation would be a few years from now. Maybe there’d be no danger of opening the nematon. Or maybe the future would have changed too much for him to know how to stop it. 

***

Stiles had been thinking so much about the nematon and the nogitsune that it was no wonder his dreams were filled with them. He dreamt of blood on his hands, of fire, of lightning, of his friends dying right in front of him. 

He woke up screaming, thrashing about on the couch, Laura wrapping her arms around him to still him. 

“You’re dreaming,” she said. “It’s just a dream.” 

Stiles shoved her arms aside, reaching for the coffee table and the little book that lay there. For a moment, everything seemed blurred and confusing and he was filled with a sense of terror. But it was just a side effect of the dim light and his panic. The words resolved themselves into plain English on the page. 

He sighed in relieve and set the book down. He flopped back against the back of the couch, trying to calm his frantic heart. 

“Are you alright?” Laura asked. 

“It was just a dream,” he said. It was a nightmare. People had nightmares all the time, particular if they’d been through traumatic experiences. It didn’t mean there was anything in his head. Almost certainly. 

Laura left him on the couch and went into the little kitchen area, turning on the light as she went. Stiles watched as she got out a saucepan and a bottle of milk. 

“Warm milk,” she explained, catching his look. “My mom swore by it.” 

Stiles forced a smile, “I hear she was a wise woman.” 

Laura returned the sad smile, pouring the milk into the saucepan. “Yeah. She was.” 

Stiles stood, crossing to the kitchen table and sitting there. His shirt, or more accurately, Derek’s borrowed shirt, was soaked in sweat. 

“Do you get nightmares a lot?” Laura asked. 

Stiles laughed, “You could say that.” 

“And why the thing with the book?” 

“I needed to check I was really awake.” 

“Pinching yourself is more traditional.” 

Stiles put two fingers against the flesh of his arm and pinched, feeling a satisfactory pain. 

“Yeah, I think I’m awake,” he said. The nightmare had been vivid, but it was already fading, no longer feeling real. 

“You can’t tell?” she asked. 

“Not always. It’s a long story.” 

She poured the milk from the saucepan into a mug and set it down in front of him. She slipped into a seat across the table. 

“And I suppose,” she said, “you’re not going to tell me.” 

Stiles looked at her, this woman who’d let him share her home, who cooked him dinner, who made him warm milk after a nightmare. He remembered the first time he saw her, a mangled half-body buried by a fire-blackened house. He couldn’t let that happen to her. 

“I want to change the future,” Stiles said. “There are things that happened that I want to not happen, but if things start changing now, it could change everything. There’s one event in particular, one massive thing that I did that I want to undo. Knowing what I know now, I can stop that happening, but the only reason I did it was to save my dad, to stop him getting murdered along with a couple of other people. We saved their lives. I want to stop the thing I did, without losing them. I could do it, with what I know now, but if the future starts changing then I won’t know what will happen. All my future knowledge becomes useless and maybe I won’t be able to stop it, if things are too different. Besides, I want the good stuff to still happen and some of the good stuff happened because of bad stuff, so I need to figure out a way for the good stuff to happen without the bad stuff. You know?” 

Laura blinked at him several times. 

“I _think_ I followed that.” 

“I’m not going to tell you everything,” Stiles said, “but if I stick near you and Derek, I can tell you things as they become useful.” 

“So I take it we’ll be stuck with you for a while?” 

Stiles could understand why she’d be less than enthusiastic about that. He was sleeping on her couch, eating her food. She and Derek had even had to go out and buy him fresh underwear. 

“Maybe when I find a way to get back to my own time, I’ll leave you letters to open on particular dates. I’ll figure something out. In the meantime, I’m going to tell you something really important, something which I hope will pay for many more mugs of warm milk.” 

“OK,” Laura said. 

“I never actually met you in the future.” 

“But you recognised me.” 

“I found your body, cut in half and buried in a spiral beside the old Hale house in Beacon Hills. The only time I saw you, you were already dead.” 

She looked pale, like she needed a mug of warm milk herself. 

“Wow,” she said. “That is worth a few mugs of milk. How did it happen?” 

“A few months from now, you’ll receive a message from Beacon Hills. It was a picture of a deer that was found killed, with a spiral cut into its side. It was done deliberately to lure you back.” 

“Do you think I’m stupid enough to fall for something like that?” 

“You did. In my timeline anyway, you went back to Beacon Hills and you were killed by another werewolf who wanted your alpha power. One of his first acts as an alpha was to bite my best friend. That’s how I ended up involved in all this. I met Derek when he came up to try and find the alpha who killed you.” 

“Did you stop him?” 

“Yeah. Only after he went on a killing spree, but we stopped him and Derek became the alpha.” 

Laura looked thoughtful. It was hardly surprising, given that Stiles had just told her how she’d die. 

“All I need to do is not go back to Beacon Hills,” she said. 

“But he’ll still kill people. He’ll still need stopping. That’s what I mean about still making the good stuff happen. And Scott needs to still become a werewolf. He’d probably go for it voluntarily if you explain about the healing and super senses and the fact he’d be fast enough to make first line in lacrosse. Only this time round, you could explain how things work, instead of us having to figure things out on our own.” 

“I’ve never turned anyone,” Laura said. 

“I’ve never travelled in time before. First time for everything.” 

Laura nodded, still looking thoughtful. 

“Don’t tell Derek this yet,” she said. “I’ll figure out how to tell him. We’ve got time, right?” 

“A few months. I’ve got some figuring out of my own to do.” 

She nodded. She picked up the now empty mug and set it in the sink. Stiles shut off the light and returned to the couch, where hopefully he’d sleep a bit better this time.


	8. Chapter 8

“What is your job?” Stiles asked. He was busy covering the coffee table and surrounding floor with old newspaper so he could carve the wand without risking getting mountain ash everywhere. He didn’t think the werewolf siblings would appreciate that too much. 

Derek was getting ready to go to work. He worked about three or four nights a week, heading out in the early evening and coming home sometime in the middle of the night. He didn’t seem to take anything with him and he didn’t have a uniform or anything. 

“None of your business,” Derek said. He glowered at Stiles, which he did every time Stiles brought up the subject of his work. 

“Come on, why won’t you tell me? Are you a hit man for the mob or something?” 

Derek gave him a look that was equal parts annoyance and distain. It was a look that clearly said that Stiles should shut up and stop being an idiot. Derek could be very communicative in his strange non-vocal way. Stiles though had experience of dealing with Derek’s various threatening looks and treated this one the same way he treated most of the others: he ignored it and kept talking. 

“Are you a male hooker?” Stiles joked. 

Derek stormed across the room, leaning over the coffee table towards Stiles. His hand slammed down on the surface of the table with such force Stiles was surprised the table didn’t shatter into splinters. Derek glowered across the table. 

“ _Shut up now!_ ” he snarled. This anger was deeper, stronger, than before. Something Stiles had said had actually struck a nerve. 

“Sorry,” Stiles stammered out. 

Derek shot him one last angry glare, grabbed his jacket and stormed out. 

He nearly crashed into Laura, who was heading home at that moment. 

“Hi,” she started, but Derek marched past her without a word. She gave Derek’s retreating back a confused and worried look, then turned to Stiles, anger of her own burning in her eyes. 

“What did you do?” she demanded. 

“I just asked him about his job,” Stiles said. “I don’t know why he reacted like that.” 

She sighed, “Because he hates his job.” 

“Then why doesn’t he quit and find a better one?” 

“Because last time he tried to quit, they offered him a pay rise. He’s saving up. He wants to go to college and we don’t exactly have much money, so he can’t walk away from somewhere that’s offering him decent payment for his time.” 

“But what is his job?” Stiles asked. “Why would he get so angry about me asking?” 

“Just forget it,” Laura said. “If he doesn’t want to tell you, why should I?” 

“Because you’re his older sister. Embarrassing Derek should be part of the job description.” 

“I’m going to make dinner. You play with your stick.” 

***

Stiles focused on the stick he held, the embryo of his wand. He needed to mark it, to imbue it with purpose. He needed to define its power, its owner and its goal. He thought of the wand he’d picked up in the wood, how that had looked. He’d only seen it for a moment, but it was enough to form a guide of what a wand should look like. He held the wood firmly in one hand and picked up a tool, a type of chisel he’d ordered off ebay. He wasn’t sure if this was the right tool for the job, but it should be enough to carve into the wood. 

He pressed the end of the tool against the wood and pushed, scratching a faint line. He tried again, with a little more force this time. Then again, confidence growing with each stroke of the chisel. He turned the wood little by little and carved a line that ran straight around the wood, until he had a ring that cut the wand approximately in half. One side would be the handle, a smooth area for him to hold. The other side would hold the marks which defined the wand’s power. 

Stiles picked up the chisel again and started a new line, another ring around the wood. Once that was done, he made a third. He’d measured out the distances and made a faint pencil mark before carving, so the rings were equal distances apart. The end result was a handle part and then three rings. 

Each ring would denote something different. One would symbolise himself, one the source of power, and finally, the last ring would show the purpose of the wand. 

Each line he cut required more than just physical effort. He thought about what he wanted to do with this wand, about being able to use magic to protect his friends, to stop evil, to keep his family from getting hurt. He held those thoughts tightly in his mind; he couldn’t let his concentration waver. Every mark on the wood was a deliberate act, a layer of intent around the core of the wand’s power. Stiles pictured everything carefully before he did it, visualising what it would look like before he lay the tool against the wood. 

It was slow going, but he finally finished the rings. He wasn’t ready to start carving symbols yet. Stiles repositioned the wood and started carving more lines. These were straight lines, perpendicular to the rings. He cut with purpose, with determination, and soon had three straight lines running down the wood, from the first ring to the end of the wand, dividing those rings into three sections apiece. When he finished, there were nine sections of wand, each waiting for a symbol to be marked there. 

But not tonight. His hands were already getting tired from the effort of cutting through the wood and the act of concentration was always exhausting for him, especially when he hadn’t had his medication in days. He’d made a start. That would do for now. 

Stiles brushed wood dust off the length of mountain ash, using his hands to gather together the dust that had accumulated on the newspaper. He swept it all into a plastic bag he’d prepared for this occasion. Mountain ash was too useful a commodity to let go to waste, even if all he had was a tiny scattering of dust. 

By the time he’d tidied away, Laura had already finished cooking and was half-way through eating her dinner. Stiles joined her at the table, tucking into his own food. 

“Do you think it will work?” Laura asked. “Do you think you’ll be able to do magic with it?” 

“I have no idea. I wasn’t sure I could make an ash barrier until I did it.” 

He didn't tell her that it felt right. When he held the length of wood in his hand, something in it seemed to resonate deep inside him, a whisper of a promise of things to come. He believed the wand would work, he believed there was magic waiting for him in it, but he was afraid to try and put this into words because it could so easily sound crazy. 

“Do you think you'll be able to get home?” Laura asked. 

Stiles thought of his dad, of Scott, of the familiar town and woods of Beacon Hills. He could picture them all so clearly, knowing that they were all still out there, waiting for him. It was painful to be away. He missed Scott’s laughter, he missed his dad’s… everything. He missed his own home, his own bed, his own place. The need for them was a faint ache that was never really gone. 

But he was thinking of the good times, remembering the nice parts with wistful longing. It was harder to think about the funerals, the fear, the pain. There had been a lot of that, filling the time between the point he was at now and the point he’d left. He’d been given a gift here, a chance to rewrite the past. He wasn’t going to squander it. 

“I don’t think I can go home,” Stiles said. “I’m going to change things. If I’m going to make things happen differently, then I won’t be in the woods to get caught by the spell and come back. It’s a paradox. Maybe I’ll fade out of existence when I don’t have a future to go back to anymore. Maybe I’ll carry on and there’ll be two of me, the one that came back and the one that didn’t. I don’t know. All I know is that I can’t just run away without trying to fix things.” 

Laura nodded. 

“You’ve got to protect your own,” she said. “I get it. If fate gave me a chance to make life better for the people I care about, I wouldn’t be able to leave either. If I could save my family, I’d have to try.” 

***

The following day, Stiles was flipping through Bookworm’s big magic book, taking a break from wand preparation, when he came across the tracking spell. The text talked about it as a simple spell, one which was often the first piece of magic practitioners learned. It was apparently an excellent lesson in channelling of energies and focusing of wills. It was also exactly what Stiles wanted, since it seemed that neither Derek nor Laura were going to say what Derek’s job was. 

Derek was barely talking to Stiles now, sulking in his room or just giving monosyllabic responses when Stiles tried to initiate conversation. Stiles still wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong, what he’d said that had sparked such anger in Derek. It was more than just curiosity that was driving Stiles to investigate Derek’s work; he needed to figure out how to make things right between the two of them. 

The timing was perfect for trying the spell. Laura had announced that she would be hanging out with friends from work when her shift finished, so Stiles would be left in the apartment on his own when Derek went out to work. The fact that Derek wasn’t really talking to him meant that Stiles couldn’t accidentally give away that he was planning something. Stiles just sat on the couch with his books, waiting until Derek left. 

Then he sprang into action. The spell needed very little in terms of props. He needed a quartz crystal, which he already had because it was also used in the blessings for the wand. He needed some string, which wasn’t a problem because there was a roll under the sink in the kitchen. Stiles cut a length and tied one end around the piece of crystal. Then he snuck into Derek’s bedroom, found his hairbrush, and took a stray hair, tucking it into the knot against the side of the crystal. 

He drew a circle, using an ordinary pen and a piece of note paper. It didn’t seem very mystical, but the book just said that it needed a circle, it said nothing about special substances. He could worry about making it more dramatic if this attempt at the spell didn’t work. He put his paper circle down on the coffee table and set the crystal, hair and all, into the middle of it. 

Now he needed to channel his will, to make the connection to Derek. He closed his eyes and pulled up his memories of Derek. The book said this spell worked best when the spell caster was close to the person being targeted. There needed to be strong associations to the person, strong memories, strong emotions. Well, fear was a pretty strong emotion, and Stiles had been scared out of his mind a lot of the times he’d been around Derek. He called up those memories now: the night in the pool when the kanima had cornered them; seeing Derek come with Argent and Allison and his dad to try and stop the nogitsune; Derek looming through the mesh in the back of a police car; Derek threatening to kill Scott; Derek shoving him against his wall with implied promises of violence. Stiles let those memories fill him, but there were other memories too. He remembered how Derek had looked the night Boyd had died, with Boyd’s blood on his hands. He remembered finding him reading that battered copy of A Little Princess, talking about his sister for the first time since Stiles had known him. He remembered standing beside Allison’s grave, Derek placing a hand on his shoulder and telling him that it wasn’t his fault. 

Stiles let the memories fill him, painting a picture of Derek: powerful and fierce and terrifying, but underneath it all a soul as broken as Stiles’s. 

Stiles opened his eyes, and the quartz crystal was glowing faintly. 

He reached out and picked it up, holding the end of the string and letting the crystal hang freely. It swung a little from the movement, but it settled into stillness, hanging just a little off vertical. It was subtle, but the spell had definitely done something. The crystal was being pulled towards Derek like a nail being tugged towards a faint magnetic force. 

Stiles smiled. He let himself out of the apartment, locking the door with the spare key Laura had had made for him, then he followed the crystal into the coming night.


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles probably looked insane, walking block after block, following the general direction indicated by the dangling piece of crystal. The more he walked, the more noticeable the pull became. The string hung further and further off the vertical. Stiles guessed that the connection to Derek was more powerful as he got closer. 

The evening closed in as Stiles walked through the city, hoping he’d be able to find his way back when this was over. He was beginning to feel that this might not be a good idea. What would Derek think when he found out that Stiles had followed him? 

He walked along a street of bars and clubs, still quiet at this early hour, and he saw the crystal change its angle. He walked a few steps further, watching the crystal tug sideways and then a little behind him. He turned, looking in the direction of the string’s line. There was a club. 

It looked like a perfectly ordinary club. Stiles hadn't been sure what he would find, but he’d been expecting something worth Derek getting secretive and angry about. It wasn’t like it was a strip club or anything. If Derek was a bouncer or a barman or something, why would he get so defensive? There had to be something more going on. Maybe the club was a front for mobsters or something. It was clear Stiles wasn’t going to find any answers standing on the street staring at a front wall and neon logo. He needed to get inside. 

It was too early for there to be a line, so Stiles tucked the crystal in his pocket and walked up to the entrance. A bouncer stepped in front of door. This guy was huge. He looked like armoured tanks had featured somewhere in his ancestry. He folded his arms across his gorilla chest and glared at Stiles. 

“Hi, big guy,” Stiles said. “Mind letting me in?” 

He could haven’t pushed past, not without a bulldozer and stick of dynamite anyway, so Stiles smiled and tried to look friendly. 

“ID?” said the giant. 

Stiles didn’t have any ID. Even if he did, his date of birth would show him several years younger than he currently was, thanks to the whole time-travel situation. Not that he’d have been able to get in anyway. 

“I must have left it at home,” Stiles said. 

“ID?” repeated the giant. 

“Look, my friend works here and I just thought I’d stop by and see him.” 

“ID?” 

“You’re a man of few words, aren’t you?” 

“ID?” 

“What if I swear on my mother’s grave that I won’t drink anything? I just want to see my friend.” 

“ID?” 

Stiles gave a frustrated huff of breath, “Well it’s been fascinating talking to you. You’re a natural conversationalist. You could give Derek pointers.” 

He started to walk away, but the gorilla finally managed to expand his vocabulary, a note of interest in his voice, “Derek?” 

“Yeah. Derek Hale. I’m staying with him and his sister, but he won’t tell me what he does for a job.” 

Gorilla smirked slightly, “I’ll give you a peek. But you’ll have to come right out; I’m not going to get in trouble for letting minors into the club.” 

He moved aside just enough for Stiles to squeeze past and through the door. There was a short hallway with a coat check on one side and doors into bathrooms on the other. The end of the hallway opened out into a huge club. The entrance was about halfway up the wall, with a flight of stairs down to the dance floor and bar. Stiles had a view of the heads of people below, moving in the lights. 

He didn’t see Derek until he looked up. A walkway ran around the edge of the room, level with the entrance, separated by a thin rail from the dance floor below. Positioned around the walkway were dancers moving to the pulse of the music. Derek, chest bare above tight pants, danced above the club. His body moved in a rhythm that was almost animal, a pounding, thrusting motion that spoke of sex. His bare skin was touched with sweat and he ground his hips as though making love to the air. 

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, breathing out the words in a faint whisper. 

Derek’s head snapped round. His gaze locked with Stiles’s. His body was suddenly still. Anger filled his face. When he moved, it wasn’t in a dance. He stalked towards Stiles like a hunter about to pounce. 

“Oh crap,” Stiles said. He turned and fled, hurrying along the short hallway and out past gorilla. He barely made it out into the night, when a hand grabbed him by the arm. Derek spun Stiles around, slamming him up against the wall of the club. 

The familiarity of it might have made Stiles laugh, but he was suddenly very aware of Derek’s bare chest, the scent of sweat, the way his muscles had moved beneath the lights of the club. 

“You got something to say?” Derek asked. 

Apparently Stiles’s intellect was now residing in his pants because if he had any brain cells still functioning he would never have said, “That was the hottest thing I’ve seen in my whole life.” 

Derek’s hands tightened to fists around Stiles’s jacket. He growled. He actually growled, his eyes glaring into Stiles’s from inches away. 

“Oi, Hale!” a voice called. A man walked out of the club, glowering at Derek but with none of the menace that Derek could achieve with such a look. 

“You’ve only just arrived,” the man said. “You can’t take a break yet. Get back in there. You can make out with your boyfriend later.” 

“My…?” Derek went wordless with rage. He looked back at Stiles with his fury somehow magnified. 

Derek tossed Stiles aside. 

Stiles’s feet actually left the ground and then he slammed into the sidewalk, pain shooting up through his knees and arms where they impacted the ground. He narrowly avoided breaking his nose by smashing his face into the concrete. Derek turned his back and walked into the club. 

He lay for a moment, dazed and hurting, not just from the physical. Derek had hurt him before, with a whack on the head or shoving him into his steering wheel, but this was different. This time, Derek had been so casual about tossing him aside, apparently not caring if Stiles got hurt. There was something so off-hand about it. 

Stiles had seen Derek angry and seen him irritated. He’d seen the way Derek tended to treat violence as the first solution to any problem, but he’d not seen anything like the look on Derek’s face tonight. Derek had looked at him like he was nothing, like he wasn’t even worth the time it would take to pummel him into a puddle of blood and broken flesh. Derek’s expression had passed beyond anger and become hatred. 

“You OK, kid?” Gorilla asked, coming over to help Stiles get to his feet. Stiles dusted himself off. Thankfully all his limbs appeared to still be working, though he’d had some interesting bruises in a few hours. 

“I don’t suppose you hire out as a bodyguard?” Stiles said. “I think I’m going to need it.” 

Gorilla shook his head, “I wouldn’t fight that guy without a submachine gun and full body armour.” 

"And I don't even have my baseball bat." 

Gorilla made a sympathetic noise. He didn’t offer anything by way of advice or help. 

A cluster of girls were approaching the club, Gorilla moved back to his position at the door. He had a job to do and there was no point Stiles hanging around here, waiting for Derek to attack him again. Stiles limped off, back towards the apartment. 

He wished there was somewhere else he could go, but he knew no one else in this whole city. If Derek decided to throw him out, or kept the violence dialled up to these new levels, Stiles was screwed. His only hope was the slim chance that Laura might defend him, but she was more likely to stick with Derek. They were family after all. Stiles was just a stranger taken in out of pity. Stiles would be on the streets by dawn. 

He slunk his way back to the apartment and realised that the streets were starting to look familiar. He looked about him and saw a set of steps down to a door, and a light still down in the window. The sign outside still welcomed any who sought enlightenment. 

Stiles hesitated only a moment before heading down the steps and walking into the bookshop. Bookworm was sitting behind the counter as she had on the previous occasions he’d been here. She had a book open in front of her. As Stiles approached the counter, he saw it was an illustrated book of science for children. She looked up at Stiles and gave a smile. 

“Do you need more knowledge?” 

“I think I need a place to stay. Derek’s mad at me. I mean, really mad. He looked like he’d pull my head off my body without even thinking about it, like my presence was an insult to him. I can’t… I can’t stay there.” 

Bookworm stared at Stiles for a while, looking at him seriously. Stiles wondered if she was considering the best way to politely refuse. 

“I don’t own a bed,” she said at last. 

Stiles blinked in surprise and remembered that she wasn’t human. Somehow he’d forgotten the way her eyes had shifted when he’d asked to take the book. He might have got in way over his head here. He hadn’t considered that her being whatever the hell she was might mean she didn’t need to sleep. He also hadn’t thought about whether she might threaten to eat his eyeballs or something. Why couldn’t he meet people who didn’t threaten him? 

“There are people who owe me favours,” Bookworm said. “Some owe me a great deal. I could call one of them and ask them to shelter you for a time.” 

“Thanks,” said Stiles. “I don’t want to be a burden but I don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t want to make you use up your favours though.” 

Bookworm considered this, “There are some for whom that would not be a problem. I could ask Noshiko. She owes me a debt that can only be repaid with a life.” 

“Noshiko?” Stiles asked. It could be a coincidence. After all, there were bound to be more people with Japanese names in New York than in Beacon Hills, but he knew that her family had moved from New York and there couldn’t be that many people of that name who would have reason to talk to an expert on the supernatural. “Noshiko Yukimura?” 

Bookworm didn’t look at all surprised. 

“You know her,” she said. It wasn’t a question. 

“I will know her. In the future. She tried to kill me. More accurately, she tried to kill the thing possessing me, but it would have had the unfortunate side-effect of killing me.” 

“Perhaps I shouldn’t call her in then.” 

“Perhaps you should,” Stiles said. “I could warn her what will happen so if I don’t stop us from activating the nematon then she’ll know that I’m the one the nogitsune gets to, so she can kill me before I kill anyone else.” 

“I will not help you kill your past self, Adam.” 

“Why not? It could save dozens of other people.” 

“I provide knowledge, Adam. My world is one of information and understanding. Your soul is steeped in blood and guilt so you see only a glimpse of the truth, blinkered by your own feelings of regret. You do not have enough understanding of the whole.” 

“What whole? People died! Lots of people. Some of them were friends of mine and then there were doctors and cops and a whole bunch of other people. Maybe they would have saved a whole load of other people who’ll now die because of what I did.” 

“And perhaps one of those who died would have turned out to be a killer, who would have slaughtered children in their beds. You’re making guesses.” 

“I’m not guessing about the fact that innocent people died.” 

“But not by your doing. The hands might have been yours, but the will behind them wasn’t.” 

“You weren’t there.” 

“I’ve seen the truth written in your soul, Stiles. You’re not to blame.” 

It took several moments for Stiles to realise which name she’d used. How the hell could she have known that? Mystic soul-reading powers notwithstanding, how could she have known his real name? Stiles just stared for a minute, wondering how to react. She knew so much about him, about what had happened. She looked at him now with tears in her eyes, but with fire and determination behind them. 

She reached out across the counter and laid a hand against his. 

“You may take shelter with me for as long as you need,” she said, “but I will not help you seek out those you wish to kill you.” 

It was what he’d come here hoping for. It would have to do. Stiles could find a way to get to Noshiko some other time. So he smiled and accepted Bookworm’s offer, and went to get his things from Derek’s place before he or Laura got home.


	10. Chapter 10

Derek usually finished work exhausted but tonight he was still seething with anger. So he walked home, hoping to burn off some of the furious energy. He was angry at Adam, for following him when he wasn’t invited, for walking into that club where he wasn’t wanted. He was angry at Adam too for the look in his eyes, for staring at Derek like he was a chunk of meat, the same way the girls in the club always looked at him. Most of all, Derek was angry with himself, for daring to believe that this guy might be different, that he might look at him like a whole person instead of just a body. 

He’d opened up to Adam. At least, some future version of him would do, so this guy knew things about him that he hadn’t shared with anyone. He joked and laughed and didn’t seem to judge Derek for what he was or what he’d been. Derek had started to hope that maybe this guy was a part of his future for a reason. 

He just hadn’t realised how much he was hoping it until that hope was shattered. Adam saw him dancing and Derek knew what he was thinking. He could see the thought in his eyes, smell it in waves of arousal coming off him. Derek knew what Adam must consider him now. ‘Male hooker’ he’d said, when asking Derek about his job. Now Adam knew his guess was right. Derek went to that club and sold himself as much as any prostitute, using his body to lure in hormonal drunks to dance on that floor. 

Adam would never respect him now. 

Derek always finished work feeling dirty from more than just sweat, feeling as though every pair of eyes had left a layer of grease on his soul. He’d wanted things with Adam to be different. 

By the time he made it home, Derek’s anger had faded. At least, it was buried by sadness and tiredness. He was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. He wasn’t ready to see Adam again, so he walked slowly up the stairs to the right floor, anything to put a little delay between him and facing the guy who was making him feel like this. He paused again outside the front door, but then he heard the racing, worried heartbeat of the person inside. 

He opened the door, and saw the lights on in the apartment and Laura, still dressed from her night out with friends, standing by the kitchen table. 

“He’s gone,” she said. 

The couch was empty. The books and notes had vanished from the coffee table. The little pile of clothes they’d provided for Adam was gone too. 

Derek felt a strange lurch inside him. Adam had gone. Adam had decided he couldn’t stay in the same home as a guy who danced half-naked for money. That thought was quickly followed by another: what if he couldn’t stay in the same home as a guy who hurt him? 

There was a note on the kitchen table. Laura held it out to Derek now. 

_Thanks for everything. I’ll try to pay you back in the future. Adam._

“He’s on his own out there,” Laura said. “We have to go look for him.” 

“He made this choice. Maybe it’s for the best. I mean, he’s just been eating our food and sleeping on our couch. It’s not like we owe him anything.” 

“He told me how I die.” Laura’s words fell like an anvil. Silence flooded the apartment for some time afterwards as Derek tried to process this new information. He remembered a conversation with Adam, when Derek had asked about Laura’s job in the future. A casual question had yielded a fierce reaction in Adam. Because she didn’t have a job in his future. Because she was dead. 

"What?" Derek asked, the question a quiet breath. 

“He told me how I die,” Laura repeated. 

“How?” 

“Killed by another werewolf after my alpha powers.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Derek asked. 

“I was trying to figure out how to tell you. Besides, it might not matter if we can fix it. Adam warned me about my death so I could change it. I owe him.” 

Derek swallowed, suddenly ashamed. Their mom had always told them that just because they were werewolves it didn’t make them animals, but he’d acted like an animal to Adam. He’d reacted out of anger and fear, fear that this young man might lose respect for him. He’d pushed Adam away because it was easier to push than to be pushed. He might have seriously hurt Adam and he hadn’t even bothered to check afterwards. And now Adam was gone, out there in the streets somewhere, alone and friendless. Adam didn’t have any money and he didn’t have any way to earn any, without even an ID he could use. He had nothing. 

Laura was frowning at Derek, eyes narrowed. 

“What did you do?” she asked. 

Derek told her, “He followed me to work and I got mad at him. I shoved him.” 

Laura’s expression darkened, “You shoved him?” 

“He called me hot.” 

“Perhaps in your head, there’s some logical steps between a guy saying he likes you and you shoving him, but most people leave that sort of behaviour behind in kindergarten.” 

Derek had rarely seen Laura looking this angry at him and Derek could hardly blame her. Adam wasn’t like them. He was human. He could get hurt and he wouldn’t heal overnight. Laura had said that Adam liked him and Derek’s memory filled with a hundred moments from the past few days. He thought of the way Adam smiled at him, the way he joked, the way he let little hints show of a future where they might be close. Derek remembered his first ideas, when he’d wondered if they were an item in the future. Adam had liked him. 

There was no chance of him liking Derek now. 

“What do we do?” Derek asked. 

“You’ve already done enough. You stay here. I’ll go see if BW has any advice on tracking someone down.” 

Derek wondered about trying to track Adam, but the city streets were terrible for holding a scent. Car fumes and too many other people made the air an assault on the nostrils that was a nightmare to try and follow anyone through. He watched Laura leave and then he booted up the laptop. If nothing else, he could start looking up homeless shelters where Adam might have gone. It was getting cold out at night and Adam would need somewhere inside to go. 

***

The light was always on at Bookworm’s shop. Laura headed down the stairs and through the door. At the counter, Bookworm gave her a nod, but then put a finger to her lips. She pointed to a bundle sleeping in the corner, propped up against a bookshelf. A tired old rug was draped over him like a blanket. 

He looked so young when he slept, as though a lifetime of cares had vanished. Laura wondered, not for the first time, how old Adam actually was. He did look like kid now, too young for the sort of nightmares she’d seen him dealing with. 

Laura went over to the counter, speaking in a low whisper, “Thank you for looking after him. What do we owe you for this?” 

Bookworm shrugged, “It’s nothing.” 

Laura glanced at the sleeping boy in the corner, then back to Bookworm. Bookworm had let the kid into her shop, let him set up a nest in the corner, let him stay within her lair. Laura thought back over the past weeks, wondering about the advice that Bookworm had offered. 

“What’s your game?” she asked. 

Bookworm smiled pleasantly, “I quite like backgammon.” 

Laura gave a low growl. She forced herself to stop, holding the sound back so as not to wake Adam. She was sure her expression spoke volumes about her thoughts on such a glib answer. 

“You know that’s not what I meant,” she said. “I’ve been coming here long enough to know how you operate. You trade books for knowledge. But you’ve given Adam advice for free. You’ve even given him a book from your collection. Everything I know about you says that should be the next best thing to impossible. So what’s your angle?” 

“Sometimes I do simply help people.” 

“Yes. Sometimes you help people. You give them something so that they owe you a favour. So, what? You’re letting Adam rack up a debt before telling him about the interest rate?” 

BW shook her head, “You are so cynical for one so young.” 

Laura was angry. She’d been angry with Derek but that was nothing to what she was feeling now. Bookworm manipulated people. She knew so much about the world and about the people whose books she read. She could so easily be manipulating Adam and the kid deserved better than that. He’d risked his future when he’d warned Laura about her death. 

Laura let herself shift into her half-wolf form. She reached across the counter and grabbed Bookworm’s shirt, claws cutting through fabric as she bunched it into a fist. 

“I won’t let you take advantage of him,” Laura said. 

Bookworm glanced down at Laura’s hand. She smiled and gave a faint breath of laughter. She looked up and met Laura’s eyes. Laura was suddenly very nervous. Bookworm didn’t look any older than Laura was, but now she wondered how old Bookworm really was as she watched those eyes change form, becoming lizard-like. 

“You’ve got power, Laura Hale,” she said, “but let me give you a piece of advice.” Her smile widened. “For free.” 

She reached up a hand and placed it around Laura’s wrist. The skin on Bookworm’s hand shifted, soft human flesh flowing into smooth scales. Her fingers extended into claws of her own, cutting into Laura’s tender wrist. And the heat. Heat burned beneath the scales. Laura gave a faint cry of pain as she felt her skin searing, blistering. She could smell her own burning flesh. The blood that seeped out around the claws dried instantly from the heat. 

She tried to pull away, but Bookworm’s grip was unrelenting. 

“No matter how powerful you are,” Bookworm said, “there will always be someone who has more power. When you come across a person like that, you shouldn’t antagonise them. Better to make it so that you are more useful to them alive.” 

Bookworm let go. Laura curled her arm up to her chest. Angry red burns showed around her wrist, a handprint in pain. She drew a few breaths, feeling her flesh already starting to heal, but burns weren’t simple, even for a werewolf. 

Bookworm’s message was simple enough, but there was more to it that just warning Laura to be more careful who she lost her temper with. Laura glanced across at the sleeping boy, the boy who Bookworm was so eager to help. 

“You’re afraid of him,” Laura breathed. 

Bookworm gave a shrug and another smile, “I wouldn’t go so far as to say ‘afraid.’ Let’s just say that I have a healthy respect for who he might become.” 

“And who might that be?” 

“He is a broken soul. A broken soul can be healed or it can be twisted into something truly dreadful. Either way, I would rather not have him as an enemy.” 

***

Stiles kept his eyes shut and tried not to move, doing his best to appear asleep. He didn’t want to get in the middle of a fight between an alpha werewolf and a whatever the hell Bookworm really was. He wanted to help Laura but he wasn’t going to help anyone by getting torn to shreds. So far, his only plan was to make a show of waking up and hope that Bookworm decided to dial things back down. 

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Bookworm let Laura go and Laura came over to the corner of the shop. She placed a hand on Stiles’s shoulder. 

Stiles gave a sleepy little noise that he hoped sounded genuine and he opened his eyes, blinking as though he was just waking up. 

“Laura?” 

“Hey, Adam. Time to go home. You can’t sleep on the floor all night.” 

Stiles wanted to jump at this offer, but if he was too eager, it might give away the fact he’d overheard their conversation. So he pretended reluctance. 

“What about Derek?” It was still a valid question. Derek probably wanted to turn him into a chew toy for invading his privacy. But Laura just smiled. 

“Leave Derek to me.” 

So Stiles gathered up the bag containing all his stuff, including the borrowed book of magic. He followed Laura out of the shop, pausing only to thank Bookworm for her offer. They walked quickly, covering two blocks before either of them spoke. 

“How much did you hear?” Laura asked. 

Stiles decided there was no point denying the fact he’d been awake, “I woke up for the last part. When it started to get violent.” 

He looked down at Laura’s arm, seeing the red marks there, the imprint over Bookworm’s hand left in charred flesh. 

“How bad is it?” he asked. 

“It’ll heal. I should have been more careful. Mom always said that even an alpha werewolf isn’t at the top of the food chain.” 

Stiles glanced back in the direction of the shop, “What the hell is she?” 

“I don’t know for sure by I can guess. What creatures do you know of that are reptilian, have a hoard they treasure above anything else and can apparently control fire?” 

The pieces clicked in Stiles’s mind. After all, Worm was only a small step away from wyrm. 

“Holy crap! She’s a dragon?” 

“I think so.” 

“Then why the hell would she be scared of me? She said herself that I don’t have much power to work magic and I’m sure as hell not a fighter, much less a dragon-slayer.” 

Laura gave a confused shrug. Stiles thought back over his encounters with Bookworm. She definitely hadn’t been scared the first couple of times. She’d threatened to eat his eyes back at the start. The change must have come after she’d read the book Derek had taken her. Stiles tried to remember what Derek had said after that meeting, something about seeing the deaths he felt responsible for. Bookworm must have seen what had happened in his past, seen all the destruction there, which meant it was really the nogitsune she was scared of. 

That made a lot more sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say I was surprised how quickly people figured Bookworm out. Someone got it from her first appearance. I'm hoping someone is still a little bit surprised by this.


	11. Chapter 11

Derek and Stiles spent the next several days being politely distant. Derek had apologised for shoving Stiles. Stiles had apologised for stalking Derek. Now everything was calm, civil and frankly boring as hell. He wasn't actually sure why Derek had been so angry. The invasion of privacy could explain some of it, but not the depth of Derek’s rage and not the way that Derek avoided him now. 

Still, he was making progress on the wand, carving more symbols into the squares. He’d finished the first ring of symbols now. He had the protection rune and he’d added to it a crudely cut shield and a six-pointed star that was supposed to look like a sheriff’s badge. They were all symbols of protection, what he wanted for this wand and the magic he was trying to invoke. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but when he was carving the symbols, he thought he could feel a tingling warmth flowing through his fingers out of the wood. The power of his magic coming to life. 

A few days after the club incident, Laura was getting ready for work when she handed over a piece of paper and a wad of money. 

“What’s this for?” Stiles asked. 

“You’re going shopping while I’m at work,” she said. “See if you can drag grumpy face with you. You two need to start talking again.” 

Stiles looked at the piece of paper, which proved to be a shopping list. His heart gave a jolt when he saw the items written on the list, starting with a turkey. Thanksgiving. It would be Thanksgiving soon. Stiles had managed to forget, the whole business of time travel seriously messing up his sense of date. 

Laura let herself out. Stiles stood for a moment, wondering about Derek. Derek was still in his bedroom, presumably asleep. Stiles could just go out to the shops now and not have to deal with awkward silences and death glare eyebrows. But unfortunately Derek had chosen the wrong time to wake up and had heard at least some of the exchange. He emerged from his bedroom, fully dressed, and looked at Stiles with a glare that was almost defiant. 

“What does she want me to do?” Derek asked. 

“Go shopping with me for Thanksgiving.” 

Derek looked hesitant, “Do you want me there?” 

Stiles looked at the list. It was long. 

“It would help to have someone with werewolf strength to carry all this stuff.” 

Derek gave a grunt that was apparently agreement because a short while later they were at the store, filling up the cart with everything Laura had requested. It didn’t take long for the cart to start getting pretty full. 

“How many people is she planning on feeding?” Stiles asked. 

“Laura always makes a big deal out of Thanksgiving. It was our dad’s favourite holiday. He’d always cook up a big feast for the whole pack and various family friends. Laura likes to cook everything Dad would have cooked. I guess it’s her way of remembering him.” 

That was the longest speech Stiles had heard Derek say in days. It was also the most heartfelt, a glimpse into the real Derek, usually kept locked away in secret. Derek wasn’t looking at Stiles. He was digging through the carrots looking for the best specimens, though that might have just been a ploy to avoid eye contact. Stiles suspected this was all he was going to get by way of deep insight into Derek’s childhood, so he filled up the silence. 

“My mom was never a big fan of Thanksgiving, but my dad loved to do the whole family meal thing,” Stiles said. “So they compromised. We had the big dinner and said what we were thankful for and all that, but my mom made sure to tell me the real story about Thanksgiving, about how the Europeans came over and were welcomed by the Native Americans, only to steal their land and cause disease and nearly wipe them out. She left out stuff like syphilis, but otherwise she didn’t sugar-coat it. She used to tell me that while it was good to be thankful for what we’ve got, we have to remember where it came from and try to do better than those first European settlers. So Thanksgiving was also about how we were going to try and make the future better than the past.” 

Derek finally picked out some carrots and put them in the cart. He actually managed a smile. 

“That sounds nice, in a somewhat traumatising way.” 

“Oh I loved the blood and guts stories, but it was less fun at school. I must have been about five and one of the teachers asked if we knew the story of the first Thanksgiving. I told my mom’s version and three kids burst into tears. The school called my parents about how I’d made a scene and was upsetting the rest of the class.” Stiles smiled at the memory, “My mom said that she wasn’t going to make me apologise for telling the truth and that they shouldn’t either. She suggested that my teacher should read a history book before trying to brush years of atrocities under the rug.” 

There was a look close to awe on Derek’s face. He was smiling again. 

“She actually said that?” 

Stiles returned the smile, “My mom did not believe in pulling punches.” 

He added potatoes to the growing load in the cart and then they moved on to the next section of the store. They continued to work their way down the list. To Stiles’s astonishment, it was Derek who kicked the conversation off again. 

“You keep using the past tense to talk about her,” he said. 

Stiles nodded, “She got sick. There was no cure.” 

“That sucks.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, it does.” 

They reached the meat section, and Derek spent a minute or so picking out the right turkey. When he added it to the cart, he looked up and met Stiles’s eyes again as they stood side-by-side next to fridges filled with meat 

“Was it... before this time?” 

“Yeah. I came back in time and I don’t even get to see my mom.” 

Derek reached out and put a hand on Stiles’s shoulder. Stiles could feel the warmth of his fingers through his jacket. 

“Hey!” a voice interrupted. “Move it along, lovebirds. You’re blocking the turkeys.” 

Derek looked like he was about to punch the other customer for this, but Stiles put a hand on his arm. 

“Come on,” Stiles said. He took the handles of the cart and pushed it towards the next section. 

***

Thanksgiving with the Hale siblings involved a lot of food and not a big guest list. The three of them sat around the kitchen table, eating their way through the small mountain of food that Laura had prepared. There really was a ridiculous amount of food, but it was so good and Stiles ate until he felt he might never be able to move again. 

Neither Derek nor Laura had to work, so they just ate. Eventually they moved to the couch and watched whatever came on the TV, still slowly working their way through the seemingly endless supply of food. 

It was during a commercial break that Laura said quietly, “This year, I’m thankful that there’s someone looking out for my future.” 

She gave Stiles a smile and a nod. He smiled back. 

“I’m thankful,” he said, “for second chances, for the opportunity to put things right.” 

They turned to Derek. 

“I’m thankful,” he said, “that I’ve maintained the self-control not to throttle my sister because I’m not sure prison is for me.” 

“Jerk,” Laura said. She aimed a blow to the back of his head but Derek reached out and caught her arm. He laughed. Actual, genuine laughter passed his lips. He turned to Laura with a grin. 

“Seriously though,” he said, “I’m thankful I’ve got you.” 

Stiles slipped away from the couch and into the bathroom. He closed the door and leaned against it, fighting down the sudden tears. He could vividly picture Derek as Stiles had first known him, angry and brooding and dark. No wonder. Now he saw Derek and Laura together, he was astonished that Derek had held himself together as much as he had. All the anger and grief Derek must have been feeling, it was hardly surprising that he’d acted the way he had. 

Maybe this time round, he could go and tell his younger self to cut the guy some slack. Maybe this time round, he wouldn’t need to. 

“Are you OK in there?” Laura called. 

Stiles wiped his face. 

“I’m fine,” he called back. 

***

When the leftover food was consigned to the fridge to serve as dinners for the next month, a slow sleepiness settled over the apartment. The TV was still on, but Derek wasn’t paying any attention. He drifted in a state that was nearly sleep, contented and full. Laura had left the guys to do the clearing up, since she’d done all the cooking, but that would involve moving. Neither Derek nor Adam felt up to that yet. 

Adam had pulled out the laptop and sat at the other end of the couch from Derek, looking at something on it. After a while, curiosity overrode Derek’s sleepiness. 

“What are you looking at?” Derek asked. “More wand research?” 

Adam glanced up. He hesitated. Then he answered: “Facebook.” 

He turned the laptop round a bit so that Derek could see the screen. There were photos of a family dinner. It took Derek a moment to recognise Adam. The boy in the picture was a few years younger, his hair shorn short in a buzz cut. 

“That your family?” Derek asked. 

“Me and my dad. Scott and his mom. We’d often have Thanksgiving together.” He sighed, “I miss my dad.” 

“You’ll get back to him.” 

“I hope so.” 

Derek looked a little closer at the screen, seeing the text as well as the pictures. 

“Stiles?” he said. “That’s your real name?” 

“It’s not what’s on my birth certificate, but it’s what people call me.” 

“Do you want us to call you that?” 

He paused, appearing to think it over. 

“I dunno. I’m kinda getting used to Adam. I’ve got this chance to change my past, to reinvent myself. It seems fitting that I do that under a new name.” 

“In that case, you’ll still be Adam to me.” 

Adam gave him a smile. Derek leaned back against the couch cushions, returning the smile. 

“You look better with your hair longer,” Derek said. Adam nearly dropped the laptop.


	12. Chapter 12

Stiles had figured out some more symbols for the wand. He carved the mirrored five that was the kanji for self. As soon as he’d thought of it, he’d known it was right. The wand was supposed to be a part of him, a magic that came from deep inside himself. So he marked it as his own with that symbol. 

In the same ring, he carved two letters. He carved the letter S and the letter A. Stiles and Adam, his past and his future, both parts of himself. They defined who he was and who he wanted to be. 

In the third ring, he was supposed to carve symbols that represented the power and the source of his magic. He’d started with a crescent moon, since so much of his life had revolved around the lunar cycle lately. It just seemed to make sense. Then he carved what was supposed to be a book. Derek had given him a puzzled look when Stiles told him what the symbol was meant to represent, but Stiles hoped that didn’t matter. It was supposed to be the intent behind the symbol that was important, not the skill of the person carving it. He’d chosen a book because research was where he worked his magic, finding things out, digging through facts to find answers. 

That left just one section left to fill, one symbol left to find. And Stiles had no idea what he was supposed to put there. 

Stiles decided he'd had enough for today. He packed away his carving tools and was just tidying up when Laura returned from work. Derek had already headed out to the club, so it was just the two of them. Stiles decided the time was right to deal with something else he’d been wondering about lately. 

He wanted to get Christmas presents for Laura and Derek, but he had no money to buy anything. He actually considered explaining his predicament and asking for a bit of cash, but there was something fundamentally wrong with borrowing money from the person he wanted to get the present for. There was nothing he could buy or make or anything. He couldn’t even give items from his belongings, because he only owned a few items of clothing and a couple of odds and ends that the Hales had bought for him. 

He looked at his meagre pile of belongings, pondering this dilemma, when his eyes fell on the book Derek had bought for him, one of the books from the middle of the Dresden Files series. He finished reading it now, reaching the end of the story. He didn’t really need the book anymore and there was at least one person in this city who might be interested in it. 

He headed out one morning, an old sweater of Derek’s doing little to protect against the winter air, the book tucked under one arm. He walked quickly, trying to keep his blood pumping to fight off the cold, until he reached Bookworm’s shop. He let himself inside, and walked over to the counter, where Bookworm waited as she always did, a book in her hands. This one appeared to be written in Greek, with a strange symbol on its cover. 

***

“Adam?” The voice cut through the darkness and Stiles blinked his eyes open. He looked up at Bookworm’s face and the ceiling above her. This wasn’t the first time Stiles had woken up in such a position, but usually there was more blood involved in the steps leading up to it. 

“What happened?” he asked. 

“You fainted.” 

“Why? 

Bookworm shrugged, helping Stiles to sit up. He felt perfectly fine now, not a hint of faintness or dizziness. 

“There can be many causes of fainting,” Bookworm said, “usually triggering a malfunction in the autonomic nervous system. I doubt extreme heat is the cause here and you don’t appear to be in pain. You might be suffering from low blood pressure, but a more likely explanation is dehydration or fatigue, or perhaps hunger. Did you eat breakfast today?” 

Stiles nodded, wondering vaguely if this was what it was like for normal people talking to him. Bookworm helped him to stand, still talking about the many possible reasons a person might faint. Stiles didn’t think any of them applied to him. He wondered if Bookworm was trying to obfuscate things. Maybe he was being paranoid, but it was possible that Bookworm knew exactly why he’d fainted, or perhaps had caused it, and was trying to lead him astray now. 

Stiles glanced at his watch, worrying about memory gaps and blacked out periods of time. He hadn’t checked the time before walking in the door, but he knew how long the walk normally took him and what time he’d left the apartment. He didn’t think he could have been out for more than a minute or two. Assuming his watch was accurate. It was entirely possible that someone had adjusted his watch to hide a longer time gap. But that was really paranoid. 

Stiles made a mental note to check the time on his watch against the clock on Laura’s laptop when he got back to the apartment. 

Bookworm went back to the counter, where the book she’d been reading was nowhere in sight. Stiles picked up the paperback he’d dropped and took it over to her. 

“Do you seek more books?” Bookworm asked. 

“I want to get something to give Derek and Laura for Christmas,” he explained. “I’m hoping that you’ll let me trade in this book for others to give them.” 

He showed her the book. For an instant, her eyes flickered into their lizard-like state. There was a hunger in those eyes as she stared at the book. Stiles suddenly wondered if this was a good idea. She already knew things about him that she shouldn’t have been able to know. He could be giving her even more information about himself. 

“What do you want for it?” Bookworm asked. Her face looked calm again, a relaxed poker face. If he hadn’t seen that hungry flicker earlier, he’d assume she wasn’t that bothered. 

Stiles had hoped he'd be able to do a simple exchange, one book for one book, but now he decided to push it, to see if he could take it further. 

“Well, I need a present for Derek and one for Laura, maybe something for myself as well.” Did he see another tiny flicker of want in her eyes as he said that last part? Stiles kept talking, “If I’m going to learn magic, it would be useful to have access to your collection of books on magic.” 

“Agreed,” she said quickly. “You can come and read my books but you should do it here. I don’t like to have too many of my collection out of my sight at any given time.” 

Her voice was calm where Stiles might have expected to hear reluctance. She wanted him to read her books. She reached out for the book he was offering her. She looked relaxed in almost every way, but it was too good an act. Stiles didn’t believe it for a moment. He wondered if he’d just given away far more than he should. 

It was disconcerting, almost scary, how eager she was to read more of his spirit. 

Still, he’d made the deal, so he handed over the book and went to browse the shelves, looking for suitable presents. He left Bookworm sniffing at the book as though it were a delicate perfume. 

***

Stiles was disturbed by strange dreams again. They weren’t the twisted nightmares of the nogitsune, or even the normal nightmares of blood and death and watching himself murder his friends. They were just strange collections of images. When he woke in the pre-dawn gloom, the images faded fast and he was just left with an impression of snakes and golden light. 

He decided they were just dreams; the nogitsune nightmares were always much more vivid. He tried to shake the twitchy, uneasy feeling, the sensation that something was crawling just under his skin, trying to get out. He needed to calm down. Dreams happened. Everyone had dreams. They didn’t mean anything bad was going to happen. He repeated those thoughts over and over inside his head, but he couldn’t make the feelings fade. 

He gave up on the idea of going back to sleep and turned on the light. He pulled out his wand and carving tools from under the coffee table. Working on the wand gave him something to focus on, it would help restore his equilibrium. 

He set one of the carving implements against the final square and starting carving a new symbol. It was a curved line, starting out narrow but growing slightly wider as it bent round into a circle. At the point where the line met its starting point, he carved a little more, cutting a little mark into the wood, like a bead on the circle. 

When he set his tools down, Stiles was feeling calm again, but he frowned in confusion at the symbol he’d just cut. He didn’t know what it was. He didn’t know what it was meant to represent. All the instructions said that every act in making a wand should be deliberate and carefully thought through, but he’d carved this as carelessly as a doodle. He had no idea what he’d marked his wand with. Had he just ruined it? Would he have to start again from scratch? 

Then a light started. A touch of radiance flowed around that carved circle, until the symbol glowed. The light flowed from there, like liquid gold, filling the lines and rings, flowing into all the other symbols, until everything he’d carved shone. It was like when he’d picked up the wand in the forest, the magic responding to his touch. 

He held the wand loosely in one hand and felt the power of it, felt the magic singing through the wood and through his blood. 

***

“What you’re asking for is difficult,” Bookworm said, leaning casually against the counter of her shop. Laura bit back the urge to growl. 

“I know it’s difficult,” she said. “If it were easy, I wouldn’t need to be here.” 

She’d considered the options and kept coming back to the fact that she didn’t know where to begin with what she was trying to do. Since Bookworm knew something about almost everything, she probably would. From her calm smile, she did know something. 

“What do you offer me in exchange?” Bookworm asked. 

“This helps Adam more than me. I know you want to help Adam.” 

“True enough, but he will not necessarily know that this favour came by my efforts. I will still require payment from you.” 

Laura had expected this. Bookworm traded for her knowledge, it was just what she did. Still, Laura had hoped for better. She didn’t have much to offer. 

“What payment do you ask?” 

Bookworm smiled coldly, “Two things. First, I would like a promise. I want you to swear on your power that you won’t let Adam kill his past self.” 

That was unexpected. Her first instinct was to ask why Adam would want to kill his younger self, but she didn’t want to end up owing Bookworm for more information. Besides, it wasn’t too hard to work out. He talked about wanting to change his past, about some big event he wanted to fix. If he felt he was to blame for something terrible, he might consider killing himself to stop it. Laura didn’t want that to happen. She liked the kid. She’d help him to find another way. 

So she nodded and said, “What’s the second thing?” 

“I would like to have something he’s written. It doesn’t have to be much. A note. A list. A memo to himself. Anything really.” 

Bookworm’s smile was far too innocent. Laura had to wonder what this might give her. If she could learn as much as she did from something that was read, how much more might she learn from something that was written? It might be safer to just cut her losses and get out. 

But Adam needed this. And Bookworm had shown she wanted to help him. Laura swallowed, and nodded her agreement.


	13. Chapter 13

A few days later, Derek roped Stiles into helping carry boxes up from storage. The apartment block had a basement, with sections for each of the residents to store old belongings. Down in that dark basement, the Hales kept their Christmas decorations. There were a few boxes of decorations and a plastic tree that added a note of realism by dropping needles all the way up to the apartment. 

Derek hadn’t mentioned the night at the club since it had happened, but things had eased up between the two of them since Thanksgiving. Derek’s silence was amiable rather than awkward as he listened to Stiles ramble about ancient traditions of bringing green leaves indoors during the winter to preserve the spirit of life. Stiles talked about the Roman tradition for bringing potted laurel trees indoors while they wrestled the plastic Christmas tree into a lopsided standing position. 

“How do you know all this stuff?” Derek asked at last. 

“The internet.” 

Derek smiled and shook his head, then began untangling strands of tinsel. Stiles set to work with the lights. Even with cheap and tired decorations, the place was soon looking festive. It was inevitable though that Stiles would end up thinking about his dad. At least he knew that his dad wouldn’t be spending Christmas alone, but that didn’t stop Stiles wishing he could phone him. 

When they were done with the decorations, Stiles went again to Laura’s laptop, looking up his Facebook account and searching for pictures of him with his dad and his friends. It was strange to think that he was basically stalking himself, but this was as close as he could get to contact with people who mattered to him. 

Derek sat on the couch beside him, reading. The two remained like that for some time and were still sitting side-by-side when Laura returned a little early from work. She smiled at them, a little smirk that suggested a private joke. She held something clutched behind her back. Derek instantly frowned at her in suspicion. 

“What have you got there?” he asked. 

“Just a little something for the two of you,” she said, crossing to the couch and standing behind it. She bought her hand out and held it over the couch, clutching a little bundle of green leaves with white berries. Mistletoe. She smirked at the two sitting on the couch. 

“Laura,” Derek growled, looking ready to commit murder. 

“Derek,” she replied, smiling sweetly. She looked pointedly at the mistletoe and then back at Derek. 

Stiles felt incredibly uncomfortable. This whole business, particularly the night in the club, had opened his eyes to just how attractive Derek was, but he wasn’t ready to have Laura taunting him with mistletoe. Derek had made it pretty clear at the club how he felt about the fact Stiles was attracted to him, so Stiles was happy to push those feelings to one side and just try again at being friends. He didn’t need Laura making things awkward again. 

He started to stand up. Laura put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down onto the couch. 

“This isn’t funny, Laura,” Derek said. 

“No, you know what’s not funny? Seeing you two flirt and stare at each other and then not talk for days because you’re both too chicken to admit you have emotions. Now you’re sitting under mistletoe and you’re going to do something about it or so help me I will duct tape you together and lock you in a closet until you sort things out.” 

Stiles blinked in shock. At times like this he understood why Laura was the alpha. He looked across at Derek, who was looking nervously at him. Derek gave his sister another glare and then leaned across the couch. He touched his lips to Stiles’s in a brief, chaste kiss that had all the passion of a lump of wet clay. 

Derek turned back to Laura with his death glare eyebrows on full power. 

“Are you happy now?” he asked. 

Laura threw the mistletoe at him. 

“I’ll be happy when you two stop tiptoeing around each other and admit that maybe there’s some attraction going on.” 

She stalked over to the kitchen area, getting out cooking implements in a deliberately loud manner. 

Derek was still glaring at Laura, very definitely not looking at Stiles. He certainly didn’t seem about to declare attraction or god-forbid affection towards Stiles. Stiles actually felt bad for the guy, being put on the spot like that. Stiles decided to break the painful silence. 

“It’s OK,” he said. “I mean, it must be pretty clear that I find you attractive, Derek, but then, who wouldn’t? But it doesn’t matter. I’m OK with you not reciprocating. I mean, I had this massive crush on Lydia for years and she didn’t even notice I was there, so the fact that you acknowledge my existence is progress for me. You don’t have to worry about how to let my feelings down gently or anything. Just tell your sister that the attraction is one-sided and we can all move on with our lives and forget this awkward moment ever happened.” 

At some point during that rambling speech, Derek had turned to look at Stiles. The silence dragged out again and Stiles had to resist the urge to fill it with something, anything. 

“It’s not one-sided,” Derek said quietly. 

Stiles blinked at him, certain that he must have misheard. 

“Erm... what?” 

"You're weird and ridiculous and funny and intelligent and you’re trying to save my sister’s life. I like you, Adam.” 

Stiles stared at him. He tried to get his brain back into gear and formulate some sort of response. He had experience with being ignored or politely declined or, on one occasion, even laughed at. He didn’t have experience with a guy of incredible hotness declaring feelings towards him. 

“You... erm... are you sure?” 

“Well right now I’m reconsidering it!” And Derek was looking exasperated at him. That was more familiar territory. 

“What do you want to do?” Stiles asked. 

“I don’t know,” Derek answered. “I don’t know how to do this stuff.” 

“This stuff?” 

Derek glanced over at Laura, then back at Stiles, “You know my history with relationships.” 

Relationships. Kate. Stiles didn’t want to be bundled into the same category at Kate, but Derek had used a word that implied seriousness, that implied commitment. He wasn’t just talking about attraction here. That was more than a little scary. 

“This can’t be real,” Stiles said. “I know this can’t be real, because I know you in the future. You’ve known me for, what, not even two months? Future you knew me for more than that many years. And he hated my guts. He was always shoving me up against walls and threatening to rip my throat out and stuff. There was not so much as a hint of attraction or a whisper of relationships. There was just him and me and grievous bodily harm. Which means whatever you’re feeling will pass. It means, whether I’ve got a future or not, anything that happens between us will be seriously short-term. I don’t know if I can do this, knowing that there’s an expiration date sometime in the near future. It’s not fair to either of us.” 

Stiles was on the edge of a panic attack, rambling almost incoherently, but Derek just sat there and listened. He smiled sadly when Stiles finally finished speaking. 

“I get it,” he said. He reached out a hand and rested it gently on Stiles’s shoulder. Then he stood. “I should get ready for work.” 

“Derek,” Stiles said, “don’t be ashamed of your job. It’s just dancing and from the looks of things, you’re pretty good at it.” 

“If you ask me to give you a private show, I maybe start practicing those death threats you mentioned.” But he smiled as he said it and Stiles smiled back. 

A few minutes later, Derek headed out to work and Stiles went to help Laura in the kitchen. She gave him a sideways glance. 

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” 

“There’s no future for us,” Stiles said. “I’d be fooling myself if I tried to pretend otherwise.” 

“Life’s just a series of moments,” she said. “Future or not, the two of you can enjoy this moment together.” 

“And what happens when I grandfather-paradox myself out of existence?” 

“Most people struggle to predict the future. Maybe time-travelling magicians have a cheat for that, but the rest of us can only do what seems right at the time. You like Derek. Derek likes you. It should be simple.” 

Stiles started laughing, “Nothing in my life has been simple since the day you came back to Beacon Hills.” 

She turned to look at him, determination burning in her eyes, “Then it’s time we make it simple.” 

***

Stiles prepared everything for the first blessing ceremony. He’d bought a pad of flipchart paper, so he could draw a large enough pentagram. He positioned it now in front of the Hales’ window, angling the five-pointed star so that one of the points was towards the half moon. At the other points, he arranged the representations of the elements: a stick of incense to represent air, a candle for fire, a bowl of water, and a bowl of earth. In the centre of the pentagram, he placed the carved wood of his wand. 

Laura sat on the couch, watching curiously as Stiles worked. He’d told her not to interrupt or draw his attention in any way. A disruption now could ruin everything and force him to start all over again. He sat, cross-legged, on the floor in front of his pentagram. He wondered if he should be doing this outside, but the book just said that the ceremony needed to be in moonlight. He lit the candle and the incense, took a breath, and focused his will. 

The book was open beside him to the words of the ritual, but he’d read it about a hundred times now. He wanted to make sure he got this right. The author of the book hadn’t wanted to make this easy. He wasn’t sure how much of what was written was strictly necessary, and how much was the author waffling on. 

“I call upon the ancient spirits, upon the old powers and upon the supremacies of magic. Hark my words. Heed my purpose. By the balance of creation, I invoke the magic. As I am bound by the ancient powers, so I bid the ancient powers to bind to my will, to bless my endeavours. Let my own power be a tribute unto that ancient power that my actions and my will may magnify, not diminish, the greater whole. I call upon the spirit of fire to bless my magic.” 

He touched a hand to the base of the candle. Then he went round the other three, invoking the element and touching the point of the star. He finished with, “I call upon the moon, who lights our hearts and guides our way, to give her blessing this night and all nights to come.” 

A silver light glowed at that point of the pentagram. The book hadn’t mentioned this. Stiles was surprised enough that it took all his control not to lose focus. The light flowed like water along the lines he’d drawn until the pentagram gleamed with its own, silver radiance. 

He picked up a small bowl in which he’d prepared a mixture of herbs, according to the book’s instructions. He sprinkled the mixture over the wood of the wand. 

“I bless this wand. I name its purpose. Protection from harm. I bless this wand. I name its goal. Safeguarding of the innocent against evil powers. I bless this wand. I name its heart. Defence of those who cannot defend themselves.” 

The symbols at the end of the wand took on their own silver glow now, as though moonlight had liquefied and settled in the grooves he’d carved. He set aside the bowl of herbs and rested his hand against the wand. 

“I ask that my will and my magic be always guided to these goals. So mote it be.” 

The light flared brightly for a moment. Then it was gone. There was just a stick of wood lying in a pentagram drawn in biro on a sheet of paper. 

Stiles blew out the candle and extinguished the incense. Then he turned to Laura. 

“It’s over,” he said. 

“That was beautiful,” she said. 

“Yeah, the whole moonlight glow thing was pretty cool.” 

“I meant what you said, all that stuff about protection.” 

Stiles dismissed it with a grin and a joke, “That’s me. Adam the mighty sorcerer: protector of the innocent, defender of the right, guardian of small, fluffy animals.” 

Laura returned the smile, but she was serious. Stiles didn’t feel exactly comfortable in her admiration. It wasn’t like this was totally selfless. He wanted the wand to protect the people he cared about, to guard his friends and family. It wasn’t like he intended to become a superhero and go around saving random strangers. 

He packed up all the pieces. Seven days until the next ritual. 

***

The full moon ritual was much the same as the half moon ritual. The words were almost identical, the gestures nearly the same. The difference was that this time he asked that the wand be bound to him. He bent down over the pentagram and whispered his name, his real name, the name his mother had given him. 

When he did that, the symbols relating to self flared blindingly bright. 

Derek hadn’t been working that night. He’d been watching the ritual with as much interest as Laura had the first one. Stiles knew how good werewolf hearing could be. He knew that, even though he’d whispered, Derek must have heard his real name. As Stiles was packing up, he turned to glare at Derek. 

“If you laugh at my name,” he said, “or tell anyone, ever, I will stab you in the eye while you sleep.” 

“Too late,” Derek said, “I’m already thinking of the blackmail possibilities.” He started to say the name and then stumbled over the syllables. 

Stiles gave a triumphant grin, “If you can’t say it, you can’t blackmail me with it. Just stick to Adam.” 

The brief exchange had made Stiles think of something. Afterwards, when his ritual materials were packed away, Stiles got out the little book of protection spells that Bookworm had given him. He was wondering about something that occurred several times in fantasy novels, often enough for Stiles to wonder if there was truth to it. In many books, it was dangerous for magic workers to learn a person’s true name. Now he flicked through the pages of that little book, until he found a reference to the subject of names. 

The entry was small, little more than two paragraphs. The book stated absolutely that a magic worker should never let another person know their true name, without complete certainty of trust. With the right rituals, someone or something could channel a magic worker’s power by calling upon their true name. 

Stiles knocked on Derek’s door. Derek was in his room but he emerged, curious now. Stiles handed him the book and pointed to the relevant section. 

“I mean it about my name,” he said. “You can call me Adam or you can call me Stiles, but forget you ever heard my true name.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm going to be busy over the next few days. I'm going to Eastercon in Glasgow to sell and sign copies of my books. I don't expect to have much time for writing this story. I may be able to sneak in another chapter before I go, but you may have to wait a little while before the next update.


	14. Chapter 14

When Christmas Day came, Laura took over the kitchen again, cooking up a feast. They’d only just finished eating the leftovers from Thanksgiving, but she was there, preparing enough food to feed half of New York. 

“Pack celebrations are going to be very different with you around,” Stiles commented, helping chop carrots under careful supervision. 

“What do you mean?” Laura asked, as she peeled potatoes. 

“Well, normally we just order pizza. Derek didn’t even own an oven for over a year.” 

“How did he survive?” 

“Honestly, I’m not sure. At the time, I assumed he just hunted defenceless animals in the woods and ate them raw or something.” 

“I’m not an animal!” Derek yelled from the direction of his bedroom, where he was presumably listening to every word. 

“Could have fooled me with all the growling you do,” Stiles yelled back. Laura sniggered and put the potatoes in a pan on the hob. 

Laura had a careful plan drawn up of what needed to be cooked for how long in what order. She was starting with pre-boiling vegetables that would then be roasted. Other things sat around on the counters half-prepared, ready to go in saucepans or oven as her schedule dictated. Once the first round of food was starting to cook, she washed her hands and the trio gathered in the living area for the exchange of presents. 

“You didn’t need to get us anything,” Derek said as Stiles handed over a small package wrapped in old newspaper. 

“I wanted to. You’ve both been so nice to me.” He handed another package over to Laura. 

He’d bought Laura a recipe book. Despite living with her for two months now, Stiles still didn’t know much about how she liked to spend her spare time. All he knew was that she liked cooking, so it seemed appropriate. He’d found the book in Bookworm’s shop and the margins were scribbled with notes and tips. Some of the recipes were almost obscured with variations and suggestions for improvements. 

“Laura Hale and the Half-Blood Recipe Book,” Stiles commented. Laura looked confused. Derek gave a snort of laughter. Stiles turned a questioning eyebrow to Derek, “You’re the one who got the Harry Potter reference?” 

“I’m the one who reads fantasy books.” 

“Thank you, Adam,” Laura said. 

By now, Derek had ripped the paper off his present, revealing the book within. It was a fantasy book. Stiles had decided to give him the first book in the Dresden Files series. He’d had a bit of a jolt when he found the book in the shop as it was the same edition as Derek had once given him, or would give him. He’d wondered if it could be the same book, if maybe this was some loop of time. But flipping through the inside of the book, he saw a little tear on the title page. He was pretty sure his copy didn’t have that. 

He’d told Derek about getting that book as a gift in the future and the significance must have stuck with him. Derek smiled at him and thanked him. 

The presents Derek and Laura got each other were of the boring and practical variety: clothes, a new pair of shoes, new bags for the vacuum cleaner. 

“You gave him those as a present?” Stiles asked Laura, who shrugged and grinned. 

“We needed some more and I figured I might as well wrap them. Besides, this way he might take the hint that he’s allowed to use the vacuum cleaner.” 

Derek glared. Laura flashed an innocent smile. Stiles laughed. 

Laura stood and went to the kitchen area. Stiles thought that signalled the end of present giving, but she returned a few moments later with a padded envelope. She handed it to Stiles. 

“It’s from both of us,” she said. 

Stiles hadn’t expected anything. They’d already given him far more than he could ever repay. Still, he opened the envelope and tipped out the contents. The first thing that fell out was a passport, followed by a driving license, then a couple of pieces of paper. The pieces of paper turned out to be a birth certificate and a high school graduation certificate. Stiles looked at Laura in shock. She smiled at his expression. 

“We figured if we could construct you a past, you could build yourself a future,” she said. 

“But how?” Stiles asked. He’d tried to get a fake ID back in Beacon Hills. The fact that he’d been recognised as the son of the sheriff hadn’t helped with the endeavour, but he wouldn’t even know where to start with things like birth certificate and passport. 

“Bookworm,” Laura answered. “She put me in touch with some men of rather dubious character.” 

“But this must have cost you a fortune.” 

She just shrugged, “At least now you can get a job and start paying us back.” 

“Yeah. I guess I can.” 

What she’d given him was more than just bits of paper and plastic. They really were giving him a future. He could have a place in this timeline as Adam. He could show ID and get a job and start to exist legally in the system, rather than as just a guest without a place. He looked at his passport. 

“Adam Smith,” he said, trying out his new name. 

“We weren’t sure about your surname,” Derek said. “We wondered about going with Hale and trying to pass you off as a distant cousin but we thought you might prefer a different name.” 

“Particularly if the two of you ever get your heads out of your respective asses,” Laura said, still smiling cheerfully. 

“Laura,” Derek growled. 

“You can’t kill me or you won’t get your Christmas dinner.” 

“You’ve got to admit that’s a good threat,” Stiles commented to Derek. 

***

Christmas came and went. Stiles completed the third ritual in his wand preparation, complete with more glowing symbols. He could feel the power inside him each time he touched the wand. It was a warm feeling, like the sensation of drinking something hot after too long outside in the cold, only the sensation flowed up his arm and through his entire body. He felt awake and aware when he held the wand. He felt full of energy, but not in the frantic, nervous way his ADHD made him feel. He felt calm and still, waiting. 

It was also easier to focus on gathering his will when he practiced, easier to focus on the book when studying. He wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. 

“You’re not as twitchy anymore,” Derek commented one afternoon, as Stiles attempted to perform the tracking spell on Laura, not because he wanted to find her, but just to practice. It was harder to do this with her because he didn’t know her so well. 

“I guess I’m more settled here,” Stiles said, but he knew there was a half-lie in that. He was feeling more comfortable here, more like it was his home, but there was more to it. 

“I’m sure it’s just that,” Derek said coldly, with a pointed glance towards the carved wand, which only needed one more ritual now to complete. 

“I have been wondering,” Stiles said, “if maybe my ADHD was to do with having magic. Like, maybe there was extra energy in me that my body didn’t know how to cope with, so it manifested with symptoms which were mistaken for ADHD. And now, because I’m channelling that power, I’m getting the symptoms less.” 

“It’s a good theory.” 

“But either way, I’m not going to get this spell to work if you keep distracting me.” 

“One day you might need to work magic in an environment filled with distractions.” 

“But today isn’t that day, so shut up.” 

Derek drew fingers across his lips in a zipper motion and then leaned back against the couch to watch Stiles work. His presence was still a distraction. Stiles was aware of how close he was, aware of the intensity of his gaze. But at least he wasn’t talking now. Stiles took a slow breath and started to focus his will. 

***

Laura arranged to go out with friends from work on New Year’s Eve, so that left Derek and Adam. Adam wanted to go out. He wanted to have fun. Derek apparently didn’t have a choice in the matter, so he ended up heading out with Adam. They went to the club where Derek worked, despite the fact that Derek had the night off. They had to go to that club, because when they’d arranged for Adam’s new identity, they’d claimed he was eighteen. Even with a fake ID, Adam wasn’t going to be getting into clubs on his own, but Derek could sneak him inside this one. 

They got their quite early, when the place was still quiet, and Derek went to the bar while Adam found them a table. Derek returned to the table a few minutes later with a couple of bottles of beer. 

“Don’t tell Laura,” Derek said. “She’ll think I’m a bad influence.” 

“Oh, please. I’ve been getting into my dad’s stash since I was thirteen. And you should have seen how drunk I got when I was trying to get Scott drunk after his first break-up with Allison. That was of course before we realised werewolves couldn’t get drunk.” 

“Please don’t use that word in public.” 

Adam gave a teasing grin, “What word? Drunk?” 

“The other word,” Derek said. 

“It’s not like anyone can hear us with the music in here. Besides, they’ll just think I’m drunk.” 

"I mean it." 

“Fine. I won’t use that word, but on one condition.” 

“What?” 

Adam upended his bottle, drinking half of his beer in one go and slamming the bottle back down on the table. He looked like he was building courage for battle. 

“Dance with me,” Adam said. 

Derek shook his head definitely. He danced for his job, he didn’t need to do it on his day off. It would be a bit different tonight, he knew. He wouldn’t be up on the walkway. He’d be down among the crowd, without so many eyes on him, but he still felt exposed. But there was Adam, smiling eagerly, a hand on Derek’s arm, trying to lead him onto the dance floor. Derek sighed and let himself be led. 

It was hard not to have fun. Adam’s enthusiasm was infectious and Derek couldn’t help but grin at his novel dancing. It seemed Adam wasn’t going to be satisfied with one dance though, after another round of beers, he dragged Derek back onto the dance floor. The only thing spoiling the night were the voices that Derek’s werewolf ears picked up even over the pound of the music. A girl complained bitterly about how all the hot guys were gay. A couple of guys complained about dirty fags hanging out among normal people, until their friend consoled them with the fact it meant more chicks for them to bang. They went on to analysing the asses of the nearby women in the crudest possible terms. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Adam asked, as they headed towards the bar once more. 

“Nothing. I just hate people sometimes.” He caught Adam’s hurt look. “Not you.” 

“Good to know I don’t count as people,” Adam said with a grin. 

“I don’t know what you are,” Derek returned the grin. 

“What I am is in dire need of shots.” 

"No. No way. Absolutely not." 

Which was how Derek ended up doing shots with an underage kid in the club where he worked. At this rate, Adam was going to get him arrested. Adam just dragged him back onto the floor to dance in his unique, flailing style and they repeated this pattern a few times, with trips to the bar and then back to dance. Adam was standing closer to him now, partly because the club was busier and the floor was packed. He was close enough to occasionally bump against Derek. 

“You’re drunk,” Derek said. 

“No, I’m intoxicated. That’s more sophisticated. It’s also fun to say. In-tox-i-cat-ed.” 

“How the hell can you still say words like intoxicated when you’re off your face?” 

“Practice.” 

“You practice?” 

“I needed to pass my dad’s inebriation tests.” 

“And of course you can still say inebriation.” 

Derek guided Adam over to the edge of the club and made the next round water. Adam groused about him being a spoilsport, but he drank the water anyway, sitting pressed up close to Derek because the only spaces were at a table that was already occupied. Derek and Adam took a couple of seats at one side, while a cluster of girls sat at the side and smiled flirtatiously in Derek’s direction. 

“You’re nice,” Adam said. “You act like you’re all grumpy and mean but you’re really nice.” 

“You’re just saying that because I’ve been buying you alcohol.” 

“Not just alcohol. Clothes. Food. A place to stay. Oh my god! I’m your boy toy!” 

Derek had been taking a drink at just the wrong moment. He gave a snort of laughter that sent water all down front. The girls looked at his damp shirt with interest. Derek just set his glass down and gave Adam a serious look. 

“I think we’d have to be sleeping together for you to be my boy toy.” 

"Well, we can arrange that." 

Derek’s heart skipped a beat, but his rational mind reminded his libido how young Adam was. And how vulnerable. And how drunk. Anything he did now would be taking advantage of a guy who had nothing else, no support, no other options in terms of home and shelter. He didn’t want to sleep with Adam if it was just because Adam felt he owed him something in exchange for what Derek had given him. 

“You’re drunk, Adam.” 

"Intoxicated," Adam corrected. 

The giggling girls giggled a little louder and then one leaned across the table to them. 

“Are you two an item?” she asked. 

“No,” Derek said firmly. 

“You want to dance then, cutie?” 

It took Adam about a minute to realise the question was directed at him. Derek fought down the urge to laugh at the bewildered look on Adam’s face, because it really wasn’t all that funny that he could have such low self-esteem that the idea of being hit on in a club was so inexplicable to him. He looked at Derek, as though asking permission. Derek just shrugged. 

“Um, sure,” Adam said. He stood up. He wobbled. He collapsed back down again. Derek had to catch him to stop him tumbling onto the floor. 

“Maybe I’ll stay here,” Adam said. 

“Your loss, cutie,” the girl said. The group of them disappeared. 

It seemed no time before the countdown started, voices yelling the numbers as they counted towards midnight and the new year. Adam yelled along with enthusiasm. 

“Happy New Year!” Adam yelled, his voice aiming to be more deafening than all those around them. Through the rest of the club, people were grabbing partners and welcoming in the New Year with a kiss. Derek glanced at Adam. He had to wonder what it would be like. 

Adam looked at him, surprisingly thoughtful so soon after his cheerful yelling. 

“Screw the future,” Adam said quietly. He kissed Derek on the lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't expect another update for a few days. At least I'm leaving things on a good note. :)


	15. Chapter 15

The New Year welcomed Stiles with a pounding headache and a sour taste in his mouth that was probably vomit. He really should have learned by now the dangers of going drinking with a werewolf. He lay with his head buried under the covers, blocking out the cruel daylight that was trying to drill a whole into his skull through the back of his eye sockets. He was just going to stay like this forever, burying himself into bedclothes and waiting for the world to disappear. The outside world was overrated. Bed was good. 

Bed was comfy. 

Bed was actually a bed? 

Stiles poked his head out, blinking at the too-bright light, and waited for his surroundings to come into focus. He was in a bedroom. He was in Derek’s bedroom. He was in Derek’s bed. 

He tried to sift through the haze of memories to assemble some recollection of last night. He remembered shots. He remembered dancing. He remembered deciding that he was going to stop being afraid just because future-Derek didn’t like him much. He remembered kissing Derek. 

“Oh my god,” Stiles groaned. 

The bedroom door opened and Derek came in bearing coffee. 

“Did we?” Stiles asked. “I mean, what did we do? Please tell me we didn’t. Not that I mean to say I wouldn’t. I mean, you’re hot enough that anyone would want to. I just always thought my first time would be memorable and not in a drunken stupor. Oh god, I was probably awful, wasn’t I? Do you hate me right now?” 

“We didn’t sleep together,” Derek said. 

“Oh thank god.” 

Derek perched on the edge of the bed and offered Stiles the coffee. Stiles took the mug and let the caffeine kick start his higher brain functions. He realised what he’d just said and how horrendously offensive it might seem. 

“That came way happier than I meant it to,” Stiles said. “I’m just glad I didn’t have sex with you when I was too drunk to remember.” 

“I understood that,” Derek said, smiling slightly, “and I’m feeling glad that I didn’t agree when you asked me to sleep with you last night.” He paused. He grinned. “Not just because you threw up five seconds after propositioning me.” 

Stiles thrust the empty mug in Derek’s hand and buried his head under the covers again. 

“I’m never going to live this down,” he said to the pillow. 

***

Stiles was feeling rather more human by lunchtime. Derek went out and fetched some lunch from the organic soup place. Stiles sat on the couch. Laura had made herself scarce while her brother played nursemaid to the hungover Stiles. 

“Before you kissed me,” Derek said as they ate, “you said ‘screw the future.’ What did you mean by that?” 

His memories of the latter parts of last night were still hazy, but Stiles could clearly remember the moment before the kiss and what had been going through his head at the time. 

“I’ve been approaching this all wrong. I keep comparing you to future-you, thinking that you’ll start treating me the way he did, but you’re not him. He’d lost his sister. He was driven by revenge to the extent that it drove out everything else. He was angry at everything. You’re not the same as him and if I have anything to do with it, you never will be. I decided to treat this as a fresh start. And I like this version of you.” 

Derek smiled slightly, “I like you too.” 

They sat there for a moment, eating their soup, just smiling. It was comfortable. It felt right. 

Then Derek had to ask, a teasing note in his voice, “So, first time?” 

Stiles cringed. He remembered his rambling confession when he’d woken up and realised he was in Derek’s bed. He became suddenly defensive. 

“It’s not that it couldn’t have happened, don’t think that. It nearly happened twice. Three times, if you include Danny. It just never quite did.” 

“How do you nearly have sex? Did you come too soon?” 

Derek was laughing at him. Stiles reached behind his back for a cushion and threw it at Derek. He caught it, wolf-reflexes at work, and calmly placed it down behind him, settling back against it and grinning. 

“The first time was Heather,” Stiles said. “It was at her birthday party and she said she wanted to have sex for her birthday. I went off to get a condom and when I got back, she’d been kidnapped by a psychopathic druid to use as a virgin sacrifice.” 

All humour died on Derek’s face. “Wow.” 

“Yeah.” 

“And time number two?” 

“That was even more screwed up.” 

“More screwed up than human sacrifices?” 

“It was with a girl who’d spent half her life living as an animal and was still figuring out how to be a human again. Plus, I was suffering sleep-deprivation, was haunted by an evil spirit, was slowly losing my mind, and worrying about the impending end of the world. Top that all off by the fact we were in the basement of an insane asylum and you get the most inappropriate situation in the universe for having sex. And neither of us had protection.” 

Derek just stared. Stiles wasn’t surprised. There weren’t enough words in the world to respond to a description of the messed up situation he’d found himself in with Malia. It had been wrong on so many levels and it was a testament to how out of his mind he’d been that he’d even considered it at the time. Neither he nor Malia had been in any condition to consent to a sexual encounter, even setting aside the fact they’d both been underage. 

After a minute, Derek asked, “And the time with Danny?” 

Stiles managed a laugh at that, “That was when the virgin sacrifices were going on. I was worried I’d be next so I announced that I needed to lose my virginity. Danny volunteered. Then it turned out he was joking, which I consider just mean.” 

“It could be worse,” Derek said. “The only person I’ve slept with was a psychopathic bitch who murdered my family.” 

Stiles wondered if he should warn Derek that he might end up sleeping with another psychopathic bitch with a habit of killing innocent people. He decided against it. After all, if he was staying here and changing things, they could stop Jennifer Blake before there was even a hint of anything between her and Derek. Derek didn’t need to know how messed up his track record with women could be. 

"It doesn’t bode well for the two of us, does it?” Stiles said. 

"No, it doesn’t.” 

“So, what happens now?” 

***

They had their first official date two days later. They went to a small restaurant that was just a little bit on the cheap side of nice, but the staff were friendly and the menu looked good. Stiles and Derek sat at a small table and stared awkwardly at each other. Their waitress brought water and Stiles poured himself a glass just for something to do, to avoid the fact that they were both nervous. 

“Well, this is awkward,” Stiles said at last. Derek managed to laugh. 

“I haven’t been on a date in a long time.” 

"I don't think I've ever been on a date." 

“You win.” 

They’d been getting more comfortable around each other in the apartment. Why was it suddenly so difficult now that they’d acknowledged an attraction? Stiles started playing with his napkin. 

“Start rambling,” Derek said. “That will at least fill up the silence.” 

“I can’t just rambling on command.” 

“So the way to get you to shut up is to tell you to talk? That figures.” 

"You're mean." 

“I’m the big bad wolf.” 

“Does that make me Little Red Riding Hood?” 

“Or one of the three pigs.” 

“Hey! We’re still in the stage of the date where I can throw a jug of water over you and walk away.” 

“There are stages for that?” 

“If there aren’t, there should be.” 

The waitress turned up to take their order and Stiles was grateful for the interruption. He’d experienced awkward silences with Derek on plenty of occasions but it was worse now that they were in a semi-romantic situation. Stiles almost wished they were back to Derek growling at him and shoving him into walls; at least that would be familiar. 

“This doesn’t bode well for us, does it?” said Derek. 

“You mean the fact that we appear to have lost the ability to hold a conversation now that we’ve acknowledged liking each other? Maybe we should go back to you hating me. At least we could talk then.” 

“Or we could go back to you being scared of me. You seem to talk a lot when you’re scared.” 

“You guys have claws and fangs. I have sarcasm.” 

“How does that work out for you?” 

“I get to face a lot of claws and fangs.” 

“Maybe you should learn to us a weapon of some sort.” 

“Allison tried to teach me to use a crossbow,” Stiles said. “It didn’t go so well. I nearly shot Scott in the head. The only time I’ve picked up a sword, I nearly killed myself with it. I don’t think Argent would let me near his guns.” 

Derek sat up sharply. He leaned across the table towards Stiles and asked, his voice barely above a whisper, “Argent?” 

Stiles swore under his breath. He was getting careless about his future knowledge. 

“Christopher Argent,” Stiles said. “Kate’s older brother. He’s kind of an ally in the future. Once he stops threatening to kill you and Scott.” 

“Why would I ally myself with an Argent?” There was a growl in Derek’s tone. He was looking scary again. Stiles relaxed in his seat and settled in for an argument. 

“Because he’s not a bad person,” Stiles said. “He sticks to his code. He only fights things that are a threat. Or that are sleeping with his daughter, but he got over that one. He’s helped save people.” 

“He’s a hunter.” 

“But one of the good ones. He does what he does to protect me. You hating him just because he was born and raised to fight the supernatural is just as prejudiced as him hating you just because you were born with the ability to turn furry.” 

“I am not prejudiced.” 

“Just calling it as I see it, big guy.” 

The waitress returned with their starters, setting down the plates and smiling cheerfully at them. 

“Can I get you guys anything else?” she asked. 

“Could you find me a different date?” Derek asked. “This one’s getting a bit annoying.” 

Stiles gave Derek a mock glare and then smiled sweetly at the waitress, saying, “And I think the chef may have overdone the grumpiness on mine.” 

The waitress looked shell-shocked, clearly unsure of how to respond. She settled for picking up the water jug and hurrying off, saying that she was going to top it up for them. Stiles shook his head at Derek and tried not to laugh. 

“You’re mean,” he said, teasing. 

“And you keep judging me based on things I haven’t done yet.” It seemed Derek wasn’t in a mood for teasing. He completely serious as he glared at Stiles. 

“I’m not,” Stiles said. 

“You just called me prejudiced because of how I act with a guy I don’t know yet.” 

“No. I called you prejudiced because your reaction when I said he was an ally was about the same as if I told a member of the Ku Klux Klan that he’d be friends with a black guy. Just because Kate and Gerard were psychopaths doesn’t mean you can assume the rest of the family are the same.” 

“Adam, stop talking about this.” 

“I’m not going to ignore your issues. Yes, Kate’s behaviour to you was sick and what she did to your family was unforgiveable, but Chris Argent wasn’t a part of that.” 

“Adam, I’m not going to have this conversation here.” 

“No, you just want to ignore the issue and let it fester away inside like a-“

Derek reached across the table, grabbed Stiles by the front of his shirt and yanked him forward. Crockery rattled as Stile found himself pulled nearly out of his seat. Derek leaned forward and glared into Stiles’s face. 

“Um… I’m going to have to ask you to leave?” said the waitress, standing beside the table with the refilled water jug. She held it in front of her like a weapon and stared nervously at Derek, as though terrified he would leap from his seat and start attacking her for daring to interrupt. 

Derek looked round at her. He glanced at the nearby tables, where other diners were looking at him with curious or worried looks. He looked back at Stiles and seemed to realise what this must look like. He slowly released his fist, letting go of Stiles’s shirt. Stiles sat back in his seat. Derek stood. The waitress flinched away, but Derek just reached into his pocket for his wallet and pulled out a few notes to pay for the food they’d been served so far. 

He tossed the notes on the table and started for the door. Stiles moved to follow him. 

“You don’t have to go with him,” the waitress said. 

Stiles realised what this must look like. To the staring faces, it must look like Derek was an abusive boyfriend, but it hadn’t occurred to Stiles to feel scared this time. 

“It’s fine,” Stiles said, “though I think this qualifies as the worst date in the history of dating. Thanks for the concern.” 

Stiles gave her a reassuring smile and followed her out of the restaurant. Derek was waiting a little way down the street. 

“You have anger management issues,” Stiles said. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek said. “I shouldn’t have done that. It’s just… you kept talking about Kate and the Argents and I’ve spent half a decade trying not to think about all of that.” 

“Repression isn’t a viable coping strategy long-term.” 

Derek started walking along the street. Stiles followed along beside him, wracking his brain for something to say that would help. He wasn’t a therapist. He couldn’t make the pain of Derek’s past disappear. All he could do was walk beside him while the silence stretched between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One step forward, two steps back here. 
> 
> I had to include the bit about Malia Tate because I found that scene wrong for so many reasons (mostly listed in this chapter) because the two characters were in no position to consent to sexual activities. It wasn't romantic; it was disturbing. So as far as I'm concerned, as soon as the camera cut away from them, Stiles realised it was weird and stopped it before it went all the way.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter in rather a hurry, so I apologise in advance for any typos.

Stiles finished his wand on the night of the new moon. Laura and Derek sat nearby to watch. Stiles suspected that Derek had taken the night off work specifically because he wanted to see what happened. Stiles was a little worried that nothing at all would happen but he tried to bury that fear with the fact that there’d been a pretty light show for all the other rituals. 

The formula for the ritual was feeling familiar now. The difference with this one was the lack of moon, so he placed the piece of quartz crystal on the fifth point of the pentagram to represent the moon’s power. He read the words of the ritual, binding purpose, power and self together in one. The piece of crystal flared silver and the light flowed along the lines of the pentagram, but the symbols of the wand glowed gold. The two lights merged into one brilliant radiance that seemed to pulse like a heartbeat. Like it was alive. 

Stiles could feel it, even before he reached into the glowing shape to pick up his hand. He could feel the power of it, the dancing energy, life itself flowing around the lines of the pentagram. His life and the life of the world melded together. 

When he reached out for the wand, he heard a worried intake of breath behind him, but he ignored the noise. He placed his hand on the wand’s handle and the symbols glowed brighter. They seemed to drink in the silver light, pulling it into the wand until the lines of the pentagram were just ink again. 

He lifted the wand, which felt both heavy and light at the same time. It weighed almost nothing physically, but it bore the weight of the responsibility with which he’d blessed it. The simultaneous contrast was almost dizzying. 

Or maybe it was the power that was dizzying. Stiles could feel it dancing along his veins with his blood, warm and glowing. He could feel the power singing in the back of his brain, filling him with energy. He wanted to move, to laugh, to dance, to run, to make love. Or to just sit there and bathe in the magnificence that filled him. The magic was ready, was here to work through him. He had only to call it. 

He started giggling. 

“Adam?” the voice was soft, cautious, worried. Adam turned his head, feeling the power shifting inside him with even such a simple movement. The warm, glowing sensation of the power was really quite pleasant. 

Laura and Derek were standing now, crossing the room towards him, but moving slowly. The looked like they were afraid to come too close. 

The thought that Derek might be scared of him made Stiles giggle again. 

“Are you high on magic?” Laura asked. 

“I’m glowy,” Stiles said. 

“Adam, maybe you should put the wand down now?” She crouched in front of him, reaching a hand towards him but not quite touching. She looked like she was trying to calm a frightened animal. He wondered if this was how she looked to the dogs in the grooming parlour and he started giggling again. 

“Adam?” said Derek. He was crouched on Stiles’s other side. He reached out towards the wand, but his hand stopped just shy of the surface. He probably couldn’t touch it, the mountain ash protecting itself from a werewolf. That seemed mean. That meant Derek wouldn’t be able to feel this warm glowiness. 

Derek took hold of Stiles’s wrist, moving with infinite gentleness. He guided Stiles’s arm down until the wand was lying on the floor, the fingers of Stiles’s hand still closed around it. Derek was really close to him, his face right in front of Stiles’s with those big, sad eyes. 

“Your eyes are pretty,” Stiles said. Derek blinked those pretty eyes at him, confused. He leaned forward to kiss Derek, but Derek pulled back a little, just enough that the kiss didn’t make contact. He didn’t let go of Stiles’s wrist. 

“You’re not acting like yourself, Adam,” Derek said. “Let go of the wand.” 

“Then will you kiss me?” 

“When you’re back to normal.” 

The first instinct of annoyance was quickly followed by a realisation that sent Stiles’s already dancing heart into a whirl. Derek didn’t want to kiss him when he wasn’t himself. Derek was worried about him. Derek wanted to make sure he was alright. He was crouching on the floor beside him, those pretty eyes filled with concern. Stiles felt his face split into a grin. 

“Oh my god,” he said. “You care.” 

“Of course,” Derek said. 

Stiles let go off the wand. It rolled away on the floor. His hand was now free to reach up and cup Derek’s cheek, resting against warm skin and rough stubble. Derek didn’t pull away. He didn’t look like he’d even thought about pulling away. Stiles leaned in for a kiss again and this time Derek let him. Their mouths met in one warm moment of ecstasy and Stiles felt the power dancing through him. 

When the kiss broke, Derek was looking at Stiles. There were sparkles of gold in his eyes, like little fireworks dancing across the surface. Derek’s face broke into a grin. 

“You should smile more often,” Stiles said. “Like, all the time. You should never stop smiling. We should make that a law.” 

Derek still had his hand around Stiles’s wrist. He brought them up together and placed a kiss in the middle of Stiles’s palm. It was gentle, almost tickles. Stiles giggled. Derek laughed back, a deeper note that couldn’t quite be called a giggle but which was definitely in the same neighbourhood. 

“Guys?” Laura said. Stiles wondered if she’d spoken before and he just hadn’t noticed because Derek had started nibbling on one of his fingers. 

“Guys, look at me,” Laura said. Stiles didn’t want to. He wanted to look at Derek’s sparkly eyes. But Laura was there, all alphaish and firm. She crouched beside them and Stiles forced himself to turn. She looked at him and then at Derek, looking all serious and worried. Stiles briefly wondered if he should kiss her. Maybe that would make her more cheerful. 

But it might make Derek grumpy and then he’d stop smiling. Stiles didn’t want that. 

“Adam, did your book say anything about side effects?” Laura asked. 

“Nope. Nothing. Nada. Nil. Nip.” 

Derek draped his arms around Stiles and murmured into his ear, “That wasn’t the right word.” Then he nibbled at Stiles’s earlobe, “Nip.” He laughed and nibbled again. “Nip.” 

“Break it up or I’m going to throw a bucket of water over you two,” Laura said. 

Stiles ignored her. He turned back towards Derek, legs getting in the way on the floor. He dealt with that by kneeling, one leg on either side of Derek’s legs until he was sitting in Derek’s lap. Stiles put his hands around Derek but there were far too many layers of clothes between them. It really wasn’t right. Derek had all those shiny muscles underneath the clothes. Stiles grabbed the bottom of Derek’s shirt and started lifting it up. 

“No!” Laura said firmly, her eyes showing alpha red. “Derek, let go!” she ordered, as she grabbed the back of Stiles’s shirt and lifted him off Derek, careful not to touch his skin. 

Stiles scrambled backwards, towed by her firm grip. Derek started to move after him. 

“No!” she said again. “Derek, go over to the corner.” 

“I’m not three years old,” Derek protested. 

“You’ve got the common sense of one right now. You need to keep some distance from Stiles. Go over there.” 

She pointed. Her eyes were still glowing red. She looked every bit the alpha and even Stiles didn’t want to argue with her, even though it really was mean. They’d just been kissing. It wasn’t like they’d been doing anything wrong. It wasn’t like Stiles hadn’t thought about this a million times before. Only now he knew Derek cared. It wasn’t just a physical thing. Derek had been all worried and cute and cuddly and like a big, wolfy teddy bear. Stiles wanted to go join him in his corner and kiss him until he forgot how to breathe. 

“Stay there,” Laura told Stiles, looking at him with death glare eyebrows. Then she went into her bedroom. 

***

Laura went into her room to get her laptop. It took less than thirty seconds, but in that time Adam and Derek had already returned to the middle of the room and were making out. She thought about trying to physically separate them again but she didn’t want to get infected with whatever weirdness was going on with them right now. At least it was only kissing; neither of them were going to get hurt like this. 

She decided to leave them at it and booted up her laptop. She needed to find out what was going on and the only person she thought might know was Bookworm. Unfortunately, Laura couldn’t exactly go down to the shop and ask her because that would mean leaving these two alone. She just had to hope that Bookworm had information about her shop online. She was reasonably sure that Bookworm owned a phone; she just needed to find a number. 

Derek was starting to claw at the fabric of Adam’s shirt as though it offended him, as though he longed to rip it off. It looked like he was about to. 

“Clothes stay on!” Laura ordered. The two guys broke their make out session long enough to shoot her annoyed looks. Then they returned their attention to each other. 

She found an entry for the shop on a local business listing and there was a phone number given. She pulled out her phone and started to type the number in. Before she hit the call button, she looked back towards the guys. 

Adam seemed to take her words as a challenge, moving his hands to the front of Derek’s crotch and feeling him up through his jeans. He seemed determined to make Derek come in his pants and Derek seemed to be encouraging it. Laura felt bile rise in her throat as she saw that her brother was getting turned on. 

“Hands above the belt!” she yelled. “Both of you!” 

Derek rolled his eyes but the two of them went back to kissing and groping each other through their t-shirts. Laura hit the call button and held her phone up to her ear. She listened to it ring. 

“We could take this to your bedroom,” Stiles whispered. Thankfully, Laura’s werewolf hearing was good enough to pick it up. 

“No!” Laura said. “You two are staying where I can see you.” 

“Eww,” said Derek. “I don’t want you to watch.” 

“Trust me, I don’t want to be watching this either.” 

“Hello?” said Bookworm’s voice at the other end of the phone, a note of confusion in her tone. She must have picked up as Laura was talking to Derek. 

“Bookworm, something’s wrong with Adam.” 

“What happened?” 

“He was doing the final ritual for his wand, then he started acting like he was high or something and now he’s humping Derek in the middle of my living room.” 

“He’s acting sexually excited?” 

“They both are.”

“I can see why it might happen,” Bookworm said. 

“Why? How? More importantly, how do I make it stop? That book you gave Adam doesn’t mention this.”

“The wand ritual is a spell of creation, all about bringing something into being. New moon rituals are the same. It’s a time of rebirth, an important part in the cycle of nature. The first new moon of a new year is even more so, connecting with spring and the flourishing of creative energies. Adam tapped into that magic. Basically, the magic is telling him that he should be making babies.” 

“Right now he is making out with my brother. How do I make it stop?” 

“Let them have their fun,” Bookworm said. “It will wear off. The effect is basically just a mild stimulus to attractions that are already there.” 

“There is nothing mild about this!” Laura said, watching the pair. “Derek, get your hands out of his pants right now!” She turned her attention back to the phone, “Why is it affecting both of them?” 

“That should only happen if...” Bookworm trailed off. “Oh.” 

“What oh?” Laura was trying to keep from freaking out. Mom had always warned them that magic could be dangerous and now she was seeing her brother and her friend under the influence of strange forces behaving like they had no sense of self-control at all. 

“If Adam is a virgin, then there might be a stronger effect.” 

“This looks pretty damn strong to me.” 

Derek and Adam were on the couch now. Derek lay back on the cushions while Adam sat astride him, kissing every inch of exposed skin. Derek was groping on hand up Adam’s chest and the other on Adam’s ass. 

“How do I get them to stop?” Laura asked. 

“Cold showers are traditional.” 

Laura had a suspicion that Bookworm was laughing at her. Laura put the phone down for a minute and went to the sink. She filled the washing up bowl with water, went over to the couch and upended the whole thing over the two guys. 

Derek sat up a little, snarling at her. His eyes shone, but they were his usual blue. There was no sign of the gold sparkles that had been in them earlier. Adam just stared at Derek, whose shirt was now plastered to his chest by the water. 

“You look really good in a wet t-shirt,” Adam said. 

Laura picked up the phone, “Well that didn’t work.” 

“Actually,” said Adam, standing up and staggering a step or two away from Derek, “I think it did. That was just my brain to mouth filter not working, which is really quite normal for me. I think I feel... well... me again. Normal me. Not super-hormonal me.” 

Bookworm was definitely laughing, “Water can ground magical energies as well as electrical ones.” 

“Thanks,” Laura said. 

Derek and Adam stood in the middle of the living room, both soaking wet, neither quite meeting the other’s eyes. 

“You were really worried about me?” Adam asked. 

“Yeah. There was clearly something going on and I didn’t know if it was good or bad.” 

Adam smiled, “You were worried about me.” 

“Yeah. We just covered this.” 

“I want you to know that I am feeling myself again and there’s no magical buzzing going on. This is me being one hundred percent sober.” 

Adam stepped up to Derek and kissed him on the lips. This time, Derek stood there for a moment, looking almost shell-shocked. Then he started kissing back. Laura turned away. She sighed into the phone. 

“I don’t think you’ll be able to help me with this one,” she said. 

She hung up the phone and went into her bedroom, getting out a pair of headphones to drown out the voices from the living room. The last thing she heard was Adam making suggestive comments about how the couch was soaking wet now and he didn’t have anywhere else to sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

Stiles woke to warmth and softness. He was in a comfortable bed, lying on his side. The warmth was from the soft covers, but also from the arm draped over him. Stiles turned towards the source of the warmth. Derek was sprawled on his front, head turned sideways on the pillow towards Stiles. He stirred at the movement, eyes blinking open. He smiled sleepily. 

“Morning,” he said. 

The events of the previous night filled Stiles’s mind, memories bringing with them a sense of shame. He’d been so out of control, so blatant in his desires for Derek. He’d been out of his mind with lust and just plain out of his mind. He closed his eyes with a groan. 

“Is this turning into a pattern?” Stiles asked. “Me waking up in your bed feeling ashamed of the night before?” 

“We’ll see if we can do something about the shame part,” Derek said, “but I wouldn’t mind the rest of it happening more often.” 

They hadn’t slept together. Once the spell was broken, there was a residual fear that maybe he wasn’t quite himself. Derek had been all chivalrous again, wanting to be certain he wasn’t taking advantage of Stiles. So they had just lain in the bed, exchanging kisses and just enjoying each other’s warmth. It had been nice. The hormones that raged inside him at the best of times had wanted far more, but Stiles had still enjoyed what he’d had. 

And the intellectual part of him was aware of the significance. Derek had refused to kiss him when he’d been holding the wand, because Derek didn’t want some magically high one night stand that they’d both regret. He’d wanted it to be real. Derek actually cared enough not to want to take advantage. 

“So I guess this makes us officially an item then,” Stiles said. 

Derek’s arm was still draped across Stiles but he shifted it now so that his fingers could gently brush against Stiles’s hair. It was a soft, gentle motion, more tender than Stiles would have ever imagined from someone like Derek. 

“I guess so,” Derek said. 

Stiles thought back to when he’d first met Derek, how scared he’d been, how convinced he was that Derek was a monster, a killer. He could hardly believe that the man lying beside him now was the same person. 

“You’re a nice guy, Derek,” Stiles said. “I just... it’s important that you know that.” 

Derek just looked at him, “Are you still high?” 

“No. At least, I don’t think so. It’s just, last night, when you didn’t want to kiss me when you were worried something was wrong, that was... You’re a good person, Derek. I just needed to say that.” 

Derek leaned forward across the bed and kissed him. 

***

Laura went out to work as usual, but she couldn’t stop thinking about last night. She’d seen Adam perform magic. All the glowing lights had been breath-taking, but they’d also been worrying. How much power had Adam called up? 

It was clear from what had happened afterwards that Adam didn’t have complete control over it. That was the most worrying thing. He was performing these rituals but he didn’t know all of the effects that they might have. He might get hurt. He might hurt someone else. He was fumbling blindly into a world of power he didn’t understand. Laura could almost see why Bookworm would be worried. 

Laura wasn’t happy about the fact that she’d had to call Bookworm. She spent the morning, as she bathed the dogs that were brought in, wondering how deeply they’d get involved with her. It was easy to forget sometimes how powerful Bookworm could be and every time they went to her for help, it just put them more into her power. 

So on her lunch break, Laura went out to a charity shop near her work that had a couple of shelves of old books. She found one that was clear well worn, presumably meaning it had been read by many pairs of eyes. Laura bought it without looking too closely. She didn’t read the back cover. She tried not to even read the title. When work was over for the day, she took that book to Bookworm’s shop. 

Bookworm greeted her with the same cheerful smile as usual. 

“Is everything alright with Adam?” she asked. 

“He’s fine, thanks. I wanted to pay you for your information last night.” 

Laura got the book out and handed it over. Bookworm took it eagerly, holding it up and sniffing it gently. Then she frowned. 

“You haven’t read this,” she said. “And neither has he.” 

“No. But it should be enough to pay for last night’s call. I don’t want Adam to be any more indebted to you than he is already.” 

“You are a suspicious soul, Laura Hale,” Bookworm said, but she was smiling as she did so, like it was a compliment. She set the book on the counter, next to a history book she was currently reading. 

Laura hesitated. There was so much she wanted to know, but information was Bookworm’s currency. Every word she uttered might have a hidden cost later down the line. So she asked a question before the question. 

“Is that book sufficient payment for you to answer another question?” she asked. 

“That depends on the question.” 

“Adam’s learning magic quickly. How powerful could he get?” 

Bookworm looked thoughtfully at Laura for a moment. 

“I will answer that question,” she said at last, “in exchange for the book and in exchange for an answer to a question of my own.” 

“What’s your question?” 

“What did he name as the core of his wand? What’s the purpose he gave to it?” 

“Protection,” Laura said. 

“Whose protection?” 

“Whoever needs protecting. Now I’ve answered your question. It’s your turn.” 

Bookworm smiled again, but not at all pleasantly. She seemed amused that Laura would stand up to her like this, but there was a condescending note to it. Still she answered her question. 

“There are many sources of power that a practitioner of magic can draw on: ley lines, the moon, the elements, and so on. In theory, magic workers could learn to use any of them but the reality is that most are attuned to only one, or perhaps two. They can work magic with relative ease using their preferred source, but all other magic is incredibly difficult to them. That’s not the case with Adam. He is attuned to everything.” 

Laura tried to imagine what that could mean. She’d not had much to do with human practitioners of magic, but she’d seen some of the things the emissaries could do, tapping into the magical currents that flowed through Beacon Hills. If what Bookworm said was true, then Adam could be able to do all that and a thousand times more, but he didn’t know how to control it. 

“That can’t happen all that often,” Laura said. 

“I’ve come across two in my lifetime,” Bookworm said. Laura didn’t ask how long her lifetime was. “I have heard of a handful more. There’s one I think even you might have heard of.” 

“Who’s that?” 

“Merlin.” 

Laura blinked in shock. “As in the Merlin? The Knights of the Roundtable Merlin?” 

Bookworm waved a dismissive hand, “The truth was muddled up with legends, romanticised by the writers of the Middle Ages and then reimagined a thousand times by every author and screenwriter to come after, so that the reality is barely remembered. But the man was real. His power was real.” 

“And now Adam could be the next Merlin?” 

Bookworm shrugged, “Perhaps. But power isn’t always a good thing.” 

“That’s why you asked about the purpose of his wand. You want to know what he’ll use the power for.” 

This time, Bookworm gave an approving nod. There was still the condescending note to it, like a person pleased when they saw a pet do an interesting trick. Laura had figured out the intentions behind Bookworm’s question, but she was nowhere near close to figuring out the rest of Bookworm’s intentions. 

“Thank you for your time,” Laura said. She turned to leave. 

“Laura,” Bookworm called out, “if he has difficulty with his powers again, if something goes wrong or out of control, call me. There will be no cost, no debt. It’s in my interest as well as the interest of everyone else in this city to see that he doesn’t lose control of the power he could tap into.” 

That was a seriously scary thought. The fact that Bookworm was so worried about it just made Laura more worried. 

When she got back to the apartment, there was no sign of Derek or Adam. There was a note on the kitchen table, simply stating that they’d gone out and that Adam would be back when Derek went to work but wouldn’t need dinner. Laura took the note. She was about to crumple it and throw it in the trash, but instead she tucked it into her purse. She might be able to use it as a bargaining chip with Bookworm if Adam did lose control of his powers. 

Adam had tidied away the ritual items from the previous night but the wand lay on the coffee table in the middle of the living room. Laura went over to it now and held out her hand. She tried to reach for the handle, but her fingers couldn’t quite touch the surface. It was like playing with magnets. She could push against the force around the wand, but her fingers just slid aside, touching the coffee table instead. She would never be able to pick up this wand. 

If something did go wrong, she’d never be able to take the wand from Adam.


	18. Chapter 18

Stiles got a job. More accurately, Adam Smith got a job. He went to the magic shop where he’d bought the supplies for making the wand. The shop assistant he’d met before, Amelia he now learned was her name, was behind the counter again and he walked up to her and asked if they were hiring. 

“Have you got a resume?” she asked. 

“Not exactly. I’ve got this.” He pulled out the wand, which he’d been carrying in an old paper bag. He held it loosely in one hand and reached out with his mind, feeling for that warm tingle of power flowing through his arm. The symbols carved into the wood began to shine with a faint silver glow. So far, that was the only thing he’d managed to get to work with the wand. He’d tried a few spells from the big book Bookworm had loaned him, but none of them appeared to work. Still, at least he’d never want for a flashlight again. 

The shop assistant grinned in mild surprise, recognising him, “You got the wand rituals to work?” 

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m still learning though. That’s why I’d like to work somewhere like this. So I can learn more.” 

She’d looked at him critically, and then agreed, saying that they should keep an eye on anyone learning magic, just in case something went wrong. So Stiles was officially hired. In the short term, it was just a couple of shifts a week, working alongside someone else to learn the ropes. Mostly, it was fairly straightforward stuff, no different from any other shop. He learned to work the register, where stock was kept, how to price up the merchandise when new stuff came in. The things that made it different were the customers. 

Most people who came into the shop were ordinary people, looking for candles or incense, or exploring the spiritual side of things. Some picked up books or browsed for gifts for friends. That was all normal enough, but once in a while, someone would come in looking for something different. 

Not all the merchandise was on display. Some of the goods, the real deal as Amelia called them, were kept in the storeroom in the back. The wood for wands was there, and a couple of boxes of herbs and strange materials. There was a locked chest of mountain ash which Stiles wasn’t given the key for. He was told that if someone wanted something from inside that chest, he should ask Amelia or Neil, the other owner of the shop. 

There were a couple of other members of staff, but usually Stiles was on shift with one of the owners. He liked them both and they were quite happy to explain more about the magic side or let him read up on magical practices during the quiet periods. He was trying to learn as much as he could about things like the properties of crystals or herbs. He made it a game to try and figure out what sort of spells customers were planning based on the items they were buying. 

One morning, he was scanning through the purchases of a teenager in a lot of black velvet and heavy eye make-up. Silver candlestick, box of all-natural beeswax candles, incense sticks and holder, a piece of quartz crystal, two ritual bowls, a paper packet that claimed to contain consecrated soil, a velvet cloth with a pentagram stitched on in silver thread, and a little bottle with a pretty calligraphy label written in silver ink. Stiles had to squint at the label to make it out. Apparently the jar contained moon-blessed water. The price label was more clearly visible and surprisingly high for what was effectively a small bottle of water. 

“Are you invoking the elements?” Stiles asked. 

“That’s right.” 

Stiles hesitated, the bottle of moon-blessed water in his hand. She was basically trying to do the same ritual that was the start of his wand-making rituals, the same ritual he’d performed using pen and paper for the pentagram and a few dollars’ output for the cheapest candle and incense he could find. The girl’s ritual would probably look considerably more impressive in its set up, but she was spending a lot of money to make it work. 

“Is something wrong?” she asked. “Will that water not work?” 

“Oh, it will work,” Stiles said, “but so will tap water.” 

“Really? You don’t need special water?” 

Stiles shrugged, “The rituals I’ve seen call up the element of water, not the element of magically blessed water.” 

“Oh. Cool. Thanks. Just the rest then.” 

Stiles didn't point out that she could probably set aside half of her purchases and still do the ritual. At least he’d saved her the money on the water. He finished the transactional and handed her the bag of goods. As she left the shop, Neil came over to the counter from where he’d been watching the whole exchange. 

“Adam,” he said, “there’s a general principle when you work in retail that you don’t talk the customer out of making a purchase.” 

“Oh. Sorry. It just felt like I was ripping her off and it didn’t feel right. She was buying all that expensive stuff for a ritual that can be done for a fraction of the price.” 

“You’re a decent guy, Adam, and it’s nice of you to feel that way. But let me ask you this, have you ever heard of the placebo effect?” 

“Yeah. Of course.” 

“The same things applies here. One of the core principles behind the art of magic is belief. You have to believe a spell will work for it to work.” 

Stiles nodded. He remembered Deaton saying much the same thing the first time Stiles had used mountain ash to create a protective barrier. 

Neil continued, “If people believe that using blessed water or a silver ritual bowl will make their spells more powerful, then it probably will. A strong enough practitioner can perform magic with nothing but their own mind, but other people need props to get spells to work. Most of the people who come in here have only the tiniest glimmer of a spark; they need all the help they can get.” 

“I guess that makes sense,” Stiles said. He took the unsold jar of moon-blessed water and set it back on its place on the shelf. “What the hell is moon-blessed water? Is it like holy water? Can I use it to fight vampires?” 

Neil laughed. “I wouldn’t want to try. I basically call up the elements on the night of the full moon and say a standard blessing of good fortune over a bowl of water.” 

“So it’s lucky water?” 

“Essentially. But the point is I do perform a blessing ritual, so customers are buying what it says on the label. Whether you think it’s worth the money is up to you but I don’t sell fakes.” 

Stiles went back to the register as a few more customers came into the shop. He watched them browse and thought about everything Neil had said. He wondered if the placebo effect was actually magic. People could be tapping into their own, innate magical ability and using it to make themselves feel better without even knowing that they were doing it. It was an interesting idea, but Stiles wasn’t sure if it would be possible to figure out if it was right. 

He served the next couple of customers, thinking about everything Neil had said, adding it to his stock of knowledge. He kept his mouth shut as another customer bought the expensive candles, telling himself that the man had made the choice and could just as easily have picked up the cheaper candles from the shelf below. It wasn’t his job to criticise other people’s purchasing decisions. Not if he expected to keep his job for long anyway. 

*** 

On the day of the next full moon, Stiles was at the counter again. It was first thing in the morning and the shop was quiet, so Stiles was taking the time to practice his magic. He had a tea light candle set on the counter and his wand in his hand. He aimed his wand at the candle, focused his mind on what he wanted to happen, gathered his will, and said, “Burn.” 

The candle sat there. 

The wand felt warm in his hand but nothing seemed to happen. Again. He glared at the candle as though that might make it start burning out of shame. It didn’t. 

He tried again, closing his eyes this time, picturing a burning candle in his mind. He imagined it in perfect detail, knowing what he wanted to happen, willing it into being. 

“Burn,” he said. 

He opened his eyes to the sight of the small candle in front of him burning with a cheerful, yellow flame. He made a wordless cry of triumph, pumping his arms in a mini victory dance. 

Then he spotted Neil standing there, a lighter in his hand. The older man stopped trying to keep his laughter contained and gave a loud guffaw. 

“Not funny,” Stiles said. He blew out the candle. “I’m trying to learn here.” 

“I’m just relieved that you’re not going to be setting my shop on fire by accident.” 

The door opened with a jangling of the bell and Stiles set aside the wand and candle, ready to do his job. A couple of customers came in, followed a few minutes later by another and the flow of people in and out began for the day. Over the morning, a few people bought moon-blessed water and Stiles managed to keep his mouth shut this time. There were only a few left on the shelf now; it seemed a surprising number of people were willing to pay ten dollars for water with a pretty label. 

When they had a lull between customers and Stiles was helping restock the mystic amulet display, he called out to Neil, “Will you be doing another water blessing ritual tonight?” 

“I was planning it.” 

“Could I watch?” Stiles asked. “Or have a go at performing it myself?” 

Neil considered this and then agreed. Stiles was done to work for the whole day, so they could close up shop and perform the ritual in the evening. In gaps between customers, Neil explained the principles. It was a simple invocation of the four elements and the moon’s power, then a few words to ask for their blessings to infuse the water. He wrote a few notes down, but then said that he’d watch Stiles try it first, just to see if he could figure it out on his own. Stiles felt like he was back in school being given a pop quiz. 

He told himself that he’d asked for this. Besides, it didn’t matter if it didn’t work. If it was as much a bust as the candle, he would just watch Neil perform the ritual, which was what he wanted anyway. 

Stiles helped with the usual tasks of closing up shop: totalling up the cash register, sweeping the floor and so on. They didn’t close all the blinds today now. They left one open, which allowed a little puddle of moonlight to fall through the window. Stiles was a little surprised that they could see the moon from here, given the high buildings all around, but he wondered if Neil and Amelia had chosen this location specifically because angles of streets meant they could see through to the sky and the moon. Or maybe he was just lucky with the timing. 

Neil watched as Stiles set up for the ritual. He used the back of an old sale sign, drawing the pentagram in marker pen. Neil said nothing, but Stiles could feel him judging him for this inelegant solution. Stiles aligned the pentagram to the moon and then set the four elements at the other points. He used a mug of tap water, just to make a point, as well as the tea light candle he’d been failing to light earlier. To his frustration, he had to borrow Neil’s lighter to get that alight. He used some dirt from outside to represent earth and a cheap bit of incense for air. Once that was done, he filled a big bowl with water and set it in the middle of the pentagram. Neil still said nothing, just leaned against the counter to watch Stiles work. 

Stiles sat on the ground in front of his pentagram. He closed his eyes and focused his will, trying to act like he wasn’t being scrutinised at every step. This was somehow worse than being watched by Laura and Derek, because they weren’t experts on this stuff. 

He couldn’t remember the exact words he’d used during the wand rituals. In those, he’d been reading aloud from the book. Now he could just follow the drift and hope that his intentions mattered more than the words. 

Stiles picked up his wand, holding it in front of him. 

“I call upon the ancient magics,” he said, “to hear my will and heed my purpose.” A faint glow started around the symbols of his wand, just a subtle radiance. He reached out and touched the tip of the wand to the candle. “I call upon the element fire to bless my spell.” 

The symbols glowed a little brighter. He moved round the pentagram, touching the wand to each representation and invoking that element. Each time, the symbols glowed a little more until his wand was a bright beacon. When he invoked the power of the moon, the lines of the pentagram lit up as they had with the wand rituals. Silver light flowed like water along the inked lines. 

He could feel the power inside him, the tingling warmth that flowed like blood through his veins. He held the wand over the bowl of water in the centre of it all. 

“I call upon the elements to bless this water. I call upon the ancient spirits to bless this water. I call upon the moon to bless this water.” 

The silver light flowed into the bowl, concentrating there until the water shone. The light lingered for several seconds before fading, slowly sinking back to darkness. A minute later, the ink lines were just ink lines, and the water was just water. 

Stiles turned to Neil, “Was that right?” 

Neil was staring at him. 

“Did you call up the light deliberately?” he asked. 

“No. Why? Doesn’t it glow like that for you?” 

“Let me put it this way,” he said, “if we ever have to fight vampires, you’re making the holy water.” 

“So I can’t light a candle I can make magic water?” It seemed a little disappointing. Stiles knew he should be thrilled that he was getting magic to work at all, but it felt like he was getting short-changed in the superpowers department. 

He started tidying up while Neil brought out empty bottles and a funnel to portion out the blessed water. As they worked, Neil kept looking sideways at Stiles. 

“Can I see your wand?” he asked. 

Stiles picked up the wand and offered it to Neil. He felt a little nervous about doing so, even though he knew that no one else could use it. Neil took the wand with a referent care and then he started looking carefully at the symbols carved into it. 

“Protection rune,” he said, “a shield and, is that a star?” 

“A sheriff’s badge.” 

“To protect and serve.” 

“Exactly.” 

Neil nodded, as though this made perfect sense. He handed the wand back to Stiles and went back to the bottles. 

“You’ve defined your wand’s purpose as being protection. Fire is by its nature destructive. Essentially, you’re asking your wand to go counter to its purpose when you try to do fire magic. And you’ve called on the moon as one of your sources of power, so rituals invoking the moon or lunar cycles will come more easily.” 

“So I can bless water on the full moon but I can’t light a fire?” 

“I didn’t say that you can’t do it, but it will be considerably more difficult. I’d love to see what you could do with protective wards, given what you achieved with a simple blessing.” 

Stiles thought of the little book of protection spells Bookworm had given him. That had a whole chapter on protective wards. He could try experimenting with some of them. 

“It might be an idea,” Neil went on, “to get you to bless the protective amulets, if you want to make sure people are getting their money’s worth. From what I saw tonight, your charms would be more powerful than mine or Amelia’s for that purpose. Mine work alright as a warning that…” 

He broke off, staring at the display of protective amulets. They had a faint blue glow around them. Neil hurried to his feet, nearly knocking over some of the bottles of blessed water as he did so. He grabbed one of the amulets from the display and pulled it around his neck. He looked scared half to death. 

“Time to see how good you are, kid,” he said. 

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked. He was on his feet too now, wand in hand. 

“There's something out there.” 

“What kind of something?” 

“Something not human.” 

Not a very specific answer. Stiles turned towards the window that didn’t have the blinds down, looking out into the darkness. He saw something, two points of light glowing blue. They were moving closer, resolving into a pair of eyes and a familiar face. Stiles gave a short laugh as Derek tapped on the window. He started towards the door. 

“Adam, don’t!” Neil warned, but Stiles had already turned the lock and opened the door. 

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked Derek. 

“You were late,” Derek asked. “I was worried.” 

Stiles couldn’t hold back the grin. Derek could be surprisingly sweet for someone who acted so mean. 

“I can make holy water,” Stiles said. “Want to go fight vampires?” 

Derek returned the grin, “And they say romance is dead.” 

He leaned in for a kiss, just a quick pressing together of lips. Then Stiles turned back to Neil, who was still standing by the display of protective amulets, only now he was holding up a candlestick as though he intended to use it as a club. 

“Neil, this is boyfriend, Derek. Derek, this is my boss.” 

“Your boyfriend?” Neil asked. “But he’s...” 

His words faltered. 

“A werewolf,” Derek supplied. 

Neil was still standing there shell-shocked. Stiles went to grab his jacket from the backroom and that triggered Neil to finally move. He hurried over to Stiles, putting a hand on his arm and whispering quietly. 

“Do you know what blue eyes mean in a werewolf?” he asked. 

Stiles resisted another grin and whispered back just as quietly, “Do you know that werewolves have incredibly good hearing?” 

Neil shot a worried look at Derek, who was still standing in the doorway, clearly holding back a grin of his own. Stiles extracted himself from Neil’s worried grip and went over to Derek. He tucked his wand into his pocket. 

“Adam,” Neil called out, “are you sure?” 

“I’m perfectly safe,” Stiles said. “He’s a teddy bear really.” 

Derek gave him a dose of death glare eyebrows. Stiles just laughed. He tucked his hand around Derek’s arm and headed out into the night. 

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Stiles asked. 

“I try not to work on full moon nights. The energy makes it rather harder to keep my emotions under control.” 

Stiles grinned faintly. He pulled his hand from Derek’s arm and reached it round behind him instead until his hand met Derek’s ass. He gave a faint squeeze. 

“What kind of emotions are we talking about?” Stiles asked. 

Derek made a faint growling noise at the back of his throat, “Keep that up and you’ll find out.” 

Stiles laughed and they walked together back towards the apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably note that I'm not expecting them to fight vampires in this story.


	19. Chapter 19

As January drew to a close, the magic shop started setting up a display for Valentine’s Day. Stiles found himself in the shop before opening one morning with Amelia, setting out stuff on a table near the door. Most of it was innocent enough: candles and rose quartz and things like that. Then he opened a heavy box and saw that it was filled with books on love spells. He stared at the box, then up at Amelia, who was arranging various flower-scented oils. 

“I’m not comfortable with this,” Stiles said. 

“With what? Valentine’s Day?” 

“Love spells. I won’t endorse spells to make someone attracted to someone else. That’s not love; that’s taking away someone’s free will. It’s basically a magical roofie. I won’t get involved with selling anything like that.” 

“Adam, look in the book,” Amelia said. She didn’t seem particularly concerned by Stiles’s attack of conscience, so Stiles pulled the top book from the box and flipped it open. He skimmed through the headings on the pages. 

There were spells for clearing bad energies to make yourself ready for love. There was a spell, which seemed to be a variant of the tracking spell, for identifying which out of a group of people might possess attributes the caster wanted in a partner. There was spell for boosting confidence so that the caster would be able to approach the object of their affections. The closest thing that Stiles found to what he’d think of as a love spell was a ritual designed to be cast on the night of the new moon to tap into the cycles of creation. According to the text, the ritual was to be cast by two or more willing participants and the description was more than a little familiar. 

There was nothing about forcing another person to fall in love. 

“Mind control is possible with magic,” Amelia said, as Stiles set the book on the table and started unpacking the rest. “But it’s difficult and dangerous and can have disastrous side effects. On top of that, stripping someone of their basic freedoms, of their own will, is unconscionably evil. No magic worker in their right mind would publish a book teaching others how to do it.” 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said. “I guess I over-reacted.” 

“You’re a good guy, Adam, and you don’t want to see people taken advantage of. That’s not something you need to apologise for.” 

They continued setting up the table, then they went through the tasks of opening up the store. As they worked, Amelia kept giving him curious glances. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“What?” he asked. 

“It was just, when you talked about love spells and taking away someone’s will, it seemed like you were taking it personally.” 

Stiles stared at this woman, who’d been so nice to him since he’d started working here, and he wondered how much he should tell her. She knew almost nothing about him. She didn’t even know his name. 

“I’ve had someone in my head,” he admitted. “Someone who made me do things that hurt the people that I cared about.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“No one should have to go through that. Not ever.” 

***

During the quiet periods between customers, Stiles looked in more detail at the book of love spells. Amelia was right that there was nothing in here about forcing feelings on anyone. Most of it was about the caster using magic to feel better about love. He wondered about the confidence spell, thinking about everything Neil had said about the placebo effect. That seemed like a perfect recipe for a placebo. 

The spell for identifying a possible partner was interesting though. It was a lot like the tracking spell, only the caster had to focus on attributes of a person rather than a particular individual. So if the caster sat next to a group of people and focused on finding someone funny and loyal, the crystal would be pulled towards the person who most possessed those attributes. It was an interesting idea. 

A flurry of customers arrived and Stiles had to focus on doing his job. Several looked around the Valentine’s Day display and he rang up half a dozen of the love spell books over the next hour alone. Mostly it was women and girls buying the book, desperate to find someone for Valentine’s Day. One of them asked him, in a rather hopeless tone, if the spells would actually work. 

“Well, I’ve not personally tried the spells in this book,” Stiles said. “I’ve done something similar to the new moon ritual at the end and that packed quite a wallop.” 

“I mean magic. Is it real?” 

In answer, Stiles pulled his wand from where he’d stashed it under the counter. He held it loosely in one hand and let the power flow, lighting up the symbols until they glowed silver. The woman looked at him sceptically. 

“It could be battery powered,” she said. 

“Take a look.” He held it out to her. She took it, inspected it for triggers and switches, running her fingers over the carvings. She held it as he had and waited for something to happen. 

“How do you make it work?” she asked. 

“It’s tied to me. I made that wand, so in anyone else’s hand it’s just a stick of wood.” He took it back and the symbols shone again. 

“That’s beautiful.” Shame he still hadn’t figured out anything else he could do with it. 

***

When the shop calmed a little after the lunch rush had finished, Stiles went back to the book of love spells and decided to try something out. He started with the tracking spell, since he’d already done something similar. 

He took a piece of rose quartz crystal from the display and tied a bit of string around it, before setting the whole thing down inside a circle drawn on a scrap of paper. He closed his eyes and focused on what was important. He wanted someone who had a good heart, who was loyal to their friends, who protected people. He wanted someone who would want him for him, who would care about him and look out for him. And abs worthy of a supermodel wouldn’t hurt. 

The shop bell jangled. Stiles opened his eyes just in time to see the glowing pick crystal shoot out of the circle towards the door. 

Derek caught the crystal just before it hit him in the face. Then he turned, glowering, towards Stiles. 

“Is there a reason you’re throwing stones at me?” he asked. 

Across the shop, the protective amulets were glowing again, a couple of them shaking faintly on their chains. Stiles saw Amelia walk slowly to the herb section and pick up the jar of wolfsbane. If Derek noticed, he ignored it. He just glared at Stiles. 

“I was practicing something from a book of love spells,” Stiles said. 

“Hitting someone with a rock to make them love you isn’t a spell. It’s a felony.” 

"That wasn't supposed to happen." 

Derek rolled his eyes, “Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” 

He tossed the piece of crystal back to Stiles, who fumbled but managed to catch it. Stiles returned Derek’s glare. 

“So what are you doing here?” he asked. 

“I thought I might treat you to something to eat when you got a break.” 

Which was kind of sweet. Stiles should have included sweet on his list of attributes. He tidied up the crystal and book, tossing his rough circle into the bin. 

“Amelia, can I take my break now?” he asked. “It’s quiet enough.” 

Amelia looked hesitant. 

“Sure,” she said. “Just don’t forget to take your stuff.” She looked pointedly towards the counter where Stiles had his wand hidden. 

“Look, Amelia, I get that you’re worried, but Derek is one of the good guys. I mean he’s mean and grumpy...” 

“I’m reconsidering buying you food,” Derek said. Stiles ignored him and ploughed on. 

“... But he’s a good person. He wouldn’t hurt me. And he can control his shift, so I don’t even have to worry on the full moon.” 

“Just... be careful,” she said. 

Outside the shop, Derek led the way to a nearby sandwich shop. Stiles didn’t really get much chance for lunch, because it seemed that the rest of the city went shopping on their lunch break so the shop was busiest then. He was hungry now, and cheerfully ordered food at Derek’s expense. This place was quiet, the lunch rush over here as well, so they settled at a quiet table in the corner. 

“What’s this about?” Stiles asked. “Not that I don’t appreciate the middle-of-the-day date, because I do. It just makes me suspicious.” 

Derek looked uncomfortable and a little nervous. Stiles was suddenly worried. 

“I have to work on Valentine’s Day,” Derek said. “I’m sorry, but the club hosts a big singles party and my boss wants me there and I can’t get out of it because I didn’t book the time off in advance because I’ve not needed to before. I’m really sorry.” 

Stiles started laughing partly because Derek sounded so pathetically miserable and it was so unlike him. The glare that followed Stiles’s outburst of laughter was much more familiar. 

“It’s just a night,” Stiles said. “We can celebrate Valentine’s Day the day after. It’s not a big deal.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

Derek started to relax, then his worried scowl returned, “Is this one of those things where you say it isn’t a big deal but really it’s a huge deal?” 

"Has anyone told you that you’re a deeply suspicious person?” 

Derek appeared to consider this and then nodded, “A couple of times.” 

Stiles bit down another laugh. He forced himself to be serious, because obviously Derek had been beating himself up over this, assuming Stiles would be heartbroken. 

“I’ve never been seeing anyone at Valentine’s Day before,” Stiles said, “so I’ve always treated it like just another day. If you have to work, you have to work. We can pick a different day to celebrate our Valentine’s Day. It’ll probably be cheaper.” Stiles reached across the table and lay a hand over Derek’s. “But it’s sweet of you to be worried.” 

“I am not sweet,” Derek said with a glower. 

Stiles grinned, “Just a little bit.” 

***

People came to Bookworm to trade information but sometimes they didn’t realise the importance of the information they had. They would barter with her for spells and ancient wisdom, careful to get a fair trade, and then they would just give her something valuable without thinking about it, dismissing it as idle gossip. That was how she learned that the magic shop had a new employee. 

She recognised the description and decided that it was time to see for herself. She didn’t often leave her shop because she didn’t like leaving her hoard, but this would be a short and simple trip. She ran her hands gently over the spines of the books in her collection, wishing them a silent farewell, then she let herself out, flipping over the sign on the door to closed. 

Evening had fallen. Shops were shutting up for the night as she walked on through the darkness. The magic shop already had its blinds down and closed sign displaying, but there were lights on inside. Bookworm went up to the door and knocked. 

“Sorry, we’re closed,” said a voice from inside. Amelia pulled a blind aside and saw Bookworm. Recognition was quickly followed by nervousness. She undid the catch and opened the door. 

“I’ve shut up shop for the night,” she said. 

“I’ll only take a moment,” Bookworm said. She walked into the shop. Amelia didn’t try to stop her, just backed quickly out of the way. Across the shop, a cluster of amulets glowed brilliantly, rattling on chains or shaking in their boxes, warning of Bookworm’s presence. Bookworm willed them still and quiet. They hung dark and motionless again. Amelia swallowed nervously. 

“Can I help you find something?” she asked. 

Bookworm sniffed the air. There was knowledge here, information trapped on the pages of the books, but it was stale and old. But there was a scent in the air, the now-familiar flavour of Adam. She walked over to the counter and picked up a book of love spells that had his trace all over it. 

“I’d like to buy this book,” she said. 

“There are others here,” Amelia said, picking up a bland, unread copy from a display. 

“I want this one.” 

Amelia knew that Bookworm liked books that had been read. She probably wouldn’t be surprised that she had picked out the one that had been browsed by someone. She wouldn’t know the significance. She wouldn’t know that Bookworm had come here specifically to find something read by Adam. 

Amelia relented quickly and processed the transaction, eager to get Bookworm out of her shop. Bookworm was just as eager to get home to hers, to settle herself down with her hoard again. She took her new book and hurried home through the winter streets. 

Only when she was safely tucked inside, leaning against her bookshelf with her precious treasures, did she open the book and begin to read. The book spoke of love in whispers of contentment and so Adam’s thoughts had been about the subject. They left sweet-flavoured traces of happiness over the words, dusting them with joy. There was still guilt in him and fear, but there was something else growing. 

His broken soul was healing. 

Bookworm read the book through twice, lingering on the pages where he had spent his time and energy, drinking in the taste of his soul. His power left its touch on the words of the spell. It was an intoxicating taste, still weak at the moment, just a delicate trace of what he might become. She sniffed, pulling the scent of that power into her, so that she might remember it always, so that she would always know it, always find it. Find him. 

Then, smiling, she placed the book into her collection, finding it a space on the shelf next to the tattered novel Adam had given her before Christmas. There was still room on the shelf for other books. She would have more of him soon.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of people have been making comments about Bookworm. I have plans for her character but whether she's good or evil, I'll leave for you to decide. That's all I'll say... for now. :)

“I know who’s going to win the Super Bowl,” Adam announced one morning over breakfast. Derek looked up at him, surprised and a little confused. 

“Well don’t spoil it for us,” he said, “we were going to watch.” 

“No. I mean I can use this. I watched the game with my dad, so I know how it will turn out. I can use this time travel thing to make some money out of it.” 

“Are you talking about gambling?” Laura asked. She’d finished her breakfast and was now moving around the apartment, getting ready for work. 

“It’s not gambling if I know who’s going to win,” Adam said. 

It was a valid point and it certainly would be nice to have a bit more cash. Their living expenses had gone up since they’d had a third person come to live with them, and Adam’s wages weren’t bringing in much to close the gap. There was just one major problem. 

“I don’t know a bookie,” said Derek. Laura shook her head too. They hadn’t wanted to gamble before now. Their lives were enough of a risk so they kept quiet, kept hidden. They didn’t do anything to draw attention to themselves. 

“Bookworm would probably know,” Adam said. 

“No!” Laura came back to the kitchen table, glaring at Adam with absolute conviction. Adam leaned back a little in his seat, putting a bit more distance between him and the angry alpha. 

“Why not?” he asked. “I mean... I know she’s creepy but you trusted her to help get my identity stuff. Didn’t you?” 

“I didn’t trust her,” Laura said. “You needed that stuff and there was no one else to ask. We don’t need this.” 

“But it could help a lot and I could actually pay you back some of what I owe you.” 

“Adam, if you even think about taking her anymore books, I will remove your intestine and use it as a rope to throttle you.” 

Derek expected Adam to be scared, to react with shock at this vivid picture. Instead, Adam just turned to Derek with a smile. 

“You could take threat-giving tips from her,” he said. “See that? That was an excellent threat. Graphic, violent, unusual, and well within her capabilities to deliver. It’s a much more interesting threat than just threatening to rip my throat out.” 

Derek hadn’t ever threatened to rip out Adam’s throat, at least in this timeline. It was a little worrying that Adam could talk so calmly about it, but he just carried on cheerfully eating his breakfast. Laura, however, wasn’t buying it. 

“I’m serious,” she said. “I don’t trust Bookworm.” 

“I’m not trusting her but I have to take back the book she lent me anyway. I can just ask. It couldn’t hurt.” 

Laura looked at him a long while before saying, “You going to do it whatever I say, aren’t you?” 

“Probably.” 

She gave a frustrated sigh. “Fine, but don’t give her anymore books or anything you’ve written or anything like that. Give her back the one she’s lent you and if she insists on anymore just say no, no matter what she offers you.” 

Derek had seen his sister worried about things before, but this seemed more than that. She seemed genuinely frightened of Bookworm on Adam’s behalf. In a way, it was touching. Derek could understand her being a little cautious of Bookworm, given her apparent power, but Derek had seen the way she’d reacted when she’d called him a broken soul. He couldn’t believe that she had any malicious intent towards Stiles after seeing that, particularly since she’d given him a book on protection spells. Derek was sure she wanted to help him. 

But his sister was the alpha. Even Adam wasn’t going to argue with that. 

So that morning, they headed back to BW’s shop. Adam had the borrowed book carefully wrapped in his arms. When they reached the shop, Adam opened the door and nearly collided with an Asian girl coming out of it. 

“Oh. Sorry. Hey.” Adam rambled, his tone lighting up at the end with recognition. The girl gave him a confused look. There was something a little off about her, though Derek couldn’t quite figure out what that was. She looked perfectly normal, albeit a little freaked out by the way Adam was now staring at her. 

“Hey?” she said. 

Adam seemed to catch himself. “I mean hi. Um... those books look interesting.” 

The girl was carrying some books on mythology. She glanced down at them, still looking like she thought Adam might be a raving lunatic. 

“Tibetan religion and mythology,” Adam read off the cover of one. “Is that like bardo and stuff?” 

“Bardo?” 

“Yeah. A stage between life and death, in Tibetan Buddhism.” 

“I guess I’ll find out when I read the book.” She tried to edge past Adam and Derek. Derek stepped aside for her. Adam realised she was trying to get away and quickly moved. 

“Sorry about this,” he said. “Just remember, rambling about bardo is a great way to meet people.” 

“I’ll remember.” She got past them and hurried away from the shop. Adam watched her go. 

“Crap,” he muttered. He looked like he wanted to bash his head against the wall in frustration. 

“You OK?” Derek asked. 

“I think I’ve just broken my future.” 

“You know her?” 

“Yeah. Kira. I’ll know her in the future. Assuming she’s not so freaked out by this that she decides not to come talk to us when she sees past me.” 

“She’s not human, is she?” Derek asked as they headed inside the shop. 

“No. She’s a kitsune.” 

“What the hell is a kitsune?” 

It was Bookworm who answered, not looking up from the book she was reading, “Kitsune: a Japanese fox spirit. There are several different types. Not generally considered evil, except in a few cases, but usually tricksters so they’re frequently unwelcome, though the legends often portray them as noble. The local equivalent would be the coyote.” 

“Not really why we were here,” Derek said. He was thinking about Laura’s warning. He didn’t want to find Bookworm suddenly putting a price tag on this information. 

“Right,” Adam said. He went over to the counter. “I’ve brought back the book you lent me.” 

Bookworm grabbed the book from him and tenderly unwrapped it. When she’d done that, she hugged it to her chest, rocking it back and forth slightly like a mother cradling a child. Derek glanced at Adam and saw the same thing written on his face as was in Derek’s thoughts: this was weird. She closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of the book. She stared like that for more than a minute. 

When she finally set the book down, she started stroking the cover like it was a pet. Her hand kept moving over it even as she spoke to them. 

“Can I help you with something else?” she asked. 

“I know who’s going to win the Super Bowl,” Adam said. “We could use that to make some money. If I tell you who’s going to win, you can place a bet and I’ll take a cut of the winnings.” 

“I’m not that interested in money.” 

“But you must need it. Electricity bills for your shop, food, all that stuff. Plus, think how many books you buy with the money you could win.” 

Bookworm didn’t seem exactly enthusiastic, but she nodded, “You have a fair point.” 

“So I’ll tell you who’ll win and I’ll take half of your winnings.” 

“Half? That’s rather a lot.” 

“Maybe, but there’s no risk to you. It’s guaranteed money. Without my knowledge, you’d have to take a chance and you could lose.” 

They bartered back and forth and eventually settled on a twenty percent cut for Adam. They didn’t ask how much Bookworm planned to bet, so they couldn’t know how much the win would be, but it would be something at least. And Laura would be happy that they didn’t give her any books beyond the one that they’d have had to give back anyway. 

***

They watched the game as a pack, with Adam curled up against Derek on the couch. Adam wasn’t really watching the game; half his attention was on the laptop on his knee. It was open to Facebook, stalking the profile of Stiles Stilinski. There were new photos, showing Stiles and his father watching the game together. It seemed Adam was only half with the Hales. The other half of himself was trapped in his memories, in the life he’d left. 

Derek kept his arm around Adam. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if anything could be said that would make Adam feel better. He missed his family and his friends, however much he tried to hide it most of the time. 

Derek wondered what it would be like for him to go back there. If they went back to Beacon Hills to change the timeline, how would it be for Adam, sharing his father with his younger self? 

Derek couldn’t know. So all he could do was hold him. 

***

Stiles didn’t know how much exactly Bookworm had bet but it must have been a lot, because the twenty percent cut she gave him amounted to a little over three thousand dollars. Stiles gave most of it to Laura, partly in repayment for his share of rent and food pills, and partly because he didn’t have a bank account of his own. He’d have to fix that. Adam Smith would need a bank account. 

He kept some of the money out and planned to treat Derek to a nice post-V-Day night out. On Valentine’s Day itself, Stiles planned to spend his evening looking up a nice restaurant for them to go to the following day, while Derek was at work. 

They wanted to enjoy a bit of time together though, so Stiles walked with Derek to his work. They didn’t really talk much. Stiles spoke a little about his day at work. Derek said nothing whatsoever about his work. It was strangely pleasant. 

When they arrived at the club, the gorilla was on duty by the door and a couple of girls were already queuing to get in. Derek put his hand behind Stiles’s head and pulled him in for a kiss, deliberate and firm. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Derek whispered, lips brushing against Stiles’s. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Stiles said back. 

Derek walked into the club. The girls in the queue were staring at him. 

“How did you land a guy like that?” one of them asked. 

Stiles grinned and said, “Magic.” It was almost true. 

He was grinning as he walked back towards the apartment, thoughts on Derek and not his surroundings. He didn’t notice he was being followed until the man’s friend stepped out of an alley with a gun. Stiles reached into his jacket for his wand, but the guy behind him grabbed his arms. 

Stiles tried to struggle, panic suddenly surging, but the hands that held him were unrelenting. 

“Keep still, boy, unless you want a bullet through your head.” 

Stiles opened his mouth to scream for help and found the maw of the gun inches from his eyes. 

“Keep your mouth shut. Don’t think I’ll hesitate. You may look like a boy but we’ll soon see what manner of creature you really are. Now move!”


	21. Chapter 21

Cuffs locked Stiles’s arms behind his back. Another pair were around his ankle, locked to a metal ring in the middle of the basement’s concrete floor. He wasn’t sure where exactly he was, other than, of course, in trouble, but he must be somewhere close to where he’d been grabbed. There was nothing in his dark hole except for Stiles and the two men who’d captured him. One was looming over him, a big wall of muscle. The other leaned against the wall near the door. He was still big enough to be intimidating but leaner than his colleague. He rested their calmly, inspecting Stiles’s wand, while Muscles playing menacing. 

Stiles tried to look calm. More than that, he tried to stay calm. There wasn’t any use in panicking. So he tried to hold down the surging fear by thinking about that little book of protection spells back on the coffee table in the apartment. There had to be something in there he could use to get out of this. 

Mountain ash spells weren’t going to be any use because these guys were human and, besides, he didn’t have any mountain ash. Likewise, the whole chapter on protective amulets wasn’t going to help because he doubted they’d unlock the cuffs and politely fetch him the items needed to make one. 

“What kind of creature are you?” Muscles asked, glowering down at Stiles. 

“Human,” Stiles answered. “Homo sapiens. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be able to pass for one of us with a bit more practice.” 

Pain exploded in Stiles’s cheek when the man’s fist connected with it. He rocked sideways and then regained a sitting position. He worked his jaw around, testing the movement. OK, so it had hurt like hell but there didn’t seem to be anything broken. 

“Are you calling me gay?” muscles asked. He had to be obfuscating stupidity because there was no way he could have asked that question in all seriousness. 

Stiles turned to the leaner, “Are you the brains to his brawn? God, I’ve been kidnapped by a cliché.” 

"Do you think you're funny?" muscles asked. 

“I think I’m hilarious.” 

“Well keep your jokes to yourself unless you want to start losing teeth.” 

Stiles kept his eyes on muscles, but his mind was running through the chapters of the book, hoping for inspiration. There were spells on protection from negative energy attacks and curses, also useless. Whoever had written the book clearly intended it to be used in fighting supernatural threats, not a couple of human hunters. 

“We want to know what you are,” leaner said. 

“Human. Hu-man. I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.” 

“You show up a couple of months ago, no history, no background, and now you’ve got a couple of omega wolves at your beck and call.” 

“They’re not omegas,” Stiles said, probably a little too quickly. 

Leaner shrugged, “Two wolves don’t make much of a pack. I’m more interested in how you’ve got them working for you and why.” 

“They’re not working for me,” Stiles said. “They’re letting me stay with them because they’re nice. They’ve got a lot more humanity than you have.” Another punch rocked him sideways. Stiles glared up at muscles. “That wasn’t a joke, that time.” 

“What’s this thing?” leaner asked. He held up the wand. 

“A magic wand,” Stiles answered. That earned another punch. 

“You should save yourself a lot of trouble and just start answering sensibly,” leaner said. 

“That was the honest answer,” Stiles said. “If you unchain my hands, I’ll show you want I can do with it.” 

“Do you think we’re idiots?” muscles asked. 

That was the perfect straight line, handed on a silver platter, and Stiles couldn’t think of a way to answer that would do it justice. He settled for smirking instead. Muscles hit him hard enough that he fell over, the ankle cuffs yanking against the metal ring, the concrete floor adding a new layer of pain to his arm. Stiles struggled but managed to sit up again. 

“I didn’t say anything that time,” he said. He thought back to the book. A protective circle might work, but he’d need to get his hands free to draw it. The spells on avoiding tracking were exactly what he didn’t want. He needed Derek and Laura to find him. 

That was it! Maybe he wasn’t thinking about this the wrong way. He couldn’t stop this guy from punching him, but maybe he could get a message to Derek and Laura somehow. 

“Where did you come from?” asked leaner. Stiles suspected that telling the truth would earn him another punch. 

“I came to New York on my own, I didn’t have anywhere to stay and the Hales let me sleep on their couch.” 

“Out of the goodness of their hearts?” leaner asked sarcastically. 

“Yes actually. Just because they’re werewolves doesn’t mean they’re not good people.” 

“They’re not people at all,” said muscles. 

“They’re a whole lot nicer than you two are.” 

Leaner stood up from the wall. He reached down and pulled a knife from an ankle sheath. When he straightened up again, he stared at Stiles with a cold look in his eyes. 

“You should consider carefully how you answer our questions,” he said, “or we might have to see what colour you bleed.” 

“I’ll bleed red,” Stiles said. “I’m human. I don’t know how many times you want me to say it.” 

He needed to call the Hales, but how could he do that? Real werewolves howled. Could he do the magical equivalent of a howl? 

Stiles thought of the howls he’d heard before, the werewolves’ roars. There’d been the time in the school, when Scott had called the alpha. There’d been in the woods, looking for Malia. There’d been the one in his head, when Scott had got his attention from the nogitsune. Stiles closed his eyes and thought about the sound, thought about the way it had felt, thought about the way it had made the room shake. He let the memories fill him, mingling with the need to reach Derek, the need to call to the pack. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” 

Another punch impacted his cheek. This time, Stiles rolled with it and hit the floor. He didn’t try to get back up. He just pulled on his memories. 

He reached for that sense of magic, for the warm tingle deep inside. He let the magic touch the memories of the roar, of the call for pack. He held it all in the back of his mind. 

In the cold basement, Stiles let out a quiet breath, but in his mind, he roared. 

***

Adam hadn’t come home yet, but Laura wasn’t worried. He’d probably stayed at the club with Derek for a bit to enjoy Valentine’s Day. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t twenty one, even with his fake ID. That boy could talk his way into anything. 

She just wished he’d warned her so she could have waited to start on dinner. She reached into the oven to take out the casserole dish and nearly dropped it when she heard the howl. It was the cry of pack, a cry for help, more in her mind than in her ears. Derek! 

She set the dish down and retained enough sense to turn off the oven so that the apartment didn’t burn down while she was out. Then she ran for the door. 

The echoes of the howl had died away, but she knew the direction it had come from. So she ran. She stayed in human form, because a wolf running around the city would attract attention of a sort that they didn’t want, but she drew on her werewolf strength to maintain a speed that would have had a human sprinter exhausted in a couple of blocks. She charged across busy roads, ignoring the symphony of car horns that followed her until she was in a dirty and unfamiliar part of the city. 

And there was Derek. He was shirtless and looked like he’d just come from work, his expression filled with fear. Laura’s fear dimmed a little at the sight of him. He rushed over to her. 

“Are you OK?” he asked. “I heard the howl.” 

“I thought that was you,” she said. 

He gave her a confused look, before saying, “Adam. It has to be.” 

“But how? He’s not a werewolf.” 

“I don’t know. We can ask him when we find him.” 

They cast their eyes about, seeing buildings and cars and a few pedestrians giving Derek appreciative glances. Derek gave them only the briefest of glowers before tilting his head back, trying to scent the air. Laura could smell traffic fumes and people and the everyday scents of life that drowned out any specifics. She couldn’t pick out Adam’s scent from the chaos. 

What could have happened to him? 

“He’s this way,” Derek said. 

“You can pick out his scent?” 

“No.” 

Laura decided it was better not to ask how the hell he knew which was to go then. A couple of blocks later, she could pick out the scent, heavily laced with fear and pain. There was a shop which proudly proclaimed it had the best hunting supplies in the state, with windows filled with camping equipment and signs promising the best weaponry for all types of hunter. Derek made a low growling noise in the back of his throat and charged at the front door, ignoring the prominent closed sign. 

The door burst from its frame and Laura was a step behind, following Adam’s scent across the shop, past the locked racks of guns. An alarm sounded, blaring and noisy, but Laura ignored that too. They didn't have time to be cautious. She followed Derek through a door and down some stairs to a basement room. 

There was a gunshot and a cry of pain from Derek as he burst through another door at the bottom of the stairs. He lurched to one side from the impact of the bullet, leaving the doorway open. Laura leapt past him, transforming as she did so. In wolf form, she landed on top of the man who’d fired the gun, clawing his wrist until he dropped the weapon. The was no time for thought, just the racing blood and desire to hunt, to hurt. 

Another man was pulling out a weapon of his own, but she leapt at him next, teeth snapping towards his arm. He dropped his gun in his haste to get his arm out of the reach of her jaws. She snarled at him and he scurried backwards until he reached the wall. 

She was aware of Adam, chained and bruised in the middle of the floor, but her eyes were fixed on the two hunters. Derek was looking after Adam, bullet or no bullet. Laura heard the screech of breaking metal as he destroyed the cuffs. 

One of the hunters reached for a fallen gun but Laura gave a warning growl and he retracted the hand quickly. 

Beside her, Derek lifted Adam up, holding him cradled to his chest. They couldn’t stay here. Someone would respond to the alarm and there would be too many questions. 

Laura shifted back to a half-transformed state, letting her face retain some animal features, keeping her fangs. 

“Get him out of here,” she ordered Derek, who dutifully carried the injured Adam up the steps. She kept her eyes on the hunters. 

“You attacked one of my pack,” she said. 

“He said he was human,” said one of the hunters. 

“Oh, he is. But he’s still pack and you hurt him. Now, we’re not animals. We’re not monsters. But know that if you come after one of mine again, it will take you a week to die and the police will spend the next decade finding the pieces of your bodies.” Over the blare of the alarm, she could hear the approaching wail of police sirens. “Do we understand one another?” she asked. 

The two hunters nodded. One had wet himself. 

Laura ran up the stairs, shifting back so that she looked fully human. Out on the street, she saw Derek waiting with Adam a block away. She ran to them, already smelling the blood in the air. Adam was standing on his own now, looking shaken but not too badly hurt. Adam was holding one hand pressed to Derek’s side, to the already-healing bullet wound. 

“You found me,” Adam said. “I can’t believe you found me.” 

“Explanations can wait,” Laura said. “We need to get out of here.” The sirens were getting louder. Even Adam could probably hear them now. 

Derek nodded and for once Adam stopped talking. Derek wrapped an arm around Adam’s shoulder and the three of them hurried off into the night. 

***

Bookworm had heard the cry, heard Adam’s power echoing through the city as he called for help. She’d gone to answer but found the wolves there first. There seemed no point in interfering when the Hale pair had things in hand. But she waited afterwards. She watched the police arrive and start questioning the hunters, who told some story about how there had been a break-in but that the thieves must have run off when they’d heard the alarm. 

The hunters feigned ignorance as to how someone had knocked the door right out of its frame. One had suggested drugs. They gave their statements and thanked the police several times for their timely assistance in this matter. They were polite and helpful, acting like model citizens. Bookworm watched it all from a safe distance and felt the rage seethe inside her. 

When the police were gone at last, she walked across to the shop and stepped in through the broken doorframe. The two of them looked at her with a mixture of worry and anger. Both of them grabbed guns to aim in her direction. She smirked in amusement at that. 

“Who are you?” one asked. 

“I’m a friend of Adam’s,” she said. “You hurt him. I don’t like people hurting him.” 

“Yeah,” said the bigger of the pair, “well you can take what you like and stick it!” 

His companion was a little more cautious, “Are you another wolf?” 

Bookworm laughed, “I’m no werewolf.” 

“Then what are you?” 

Bookworm considered the question, then smiled. “I’m hungry,” she said. 

She leapt into the air, transforming as she did so. Bullets bounced harmlessly off her scales as she changed. It had been a while since she’d had a proper meal. These two would do nicely and they’d never again have a chance to hurt Adam.


	22. Chapter 22

Stiles sat on the couch while Derek placed a hand over the bruised and swollen side of his face. Somewhere deep inside, Stiles felt the warm tingle that he was coming to recognise as a sign that magic was taking place, then he felt the pain leech away. Stiles reached up and touched a tentative finger to his cheek. There was no pain at all. He still couldn’t see out of his left eye but at least the throbbing ache in his head was gone. 

“Thanks,” he said quietly. Derek smiled and placed a tentative kiss of Stiles’s split lip. 

“I can’t believe you roared,” Laura said. She came over to the couch and put down mugs of warm milk for them, which seemed to be her default beverage for giving comfort. 

“I can’t believe it worked,” Stiles said. He picked up the mug and took a sip, careful of his lip. He might not feel the pain, but that didn’t stop the cut being there. 

“At least we know that if you ever get in trouble, you can call on us to help,” Derek said. It was a reassuring thought. There were many dangers in this city, even without the challenges of hunters or werewolves. Still, Stiles hated that they were all thinking it. If Stiles was in trouble, he could get rescued. 

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked. 

“Aside from the fact that I got my ass handed to me by a pair of incompetent hunters?” 

Derek shifted position on the couch so he could look Stiles directly in the eye and he said, “You don’t have to be afraid. I promise, no matter what, I will be there to protect you. Just call and I’ll be there.” 

So Stiles was designated the damsel in distress in this relationship. He nodded because there wasn’t a way to argue with this. He was the one who got kidnapped or beaten up or captured by hunters. It sucked, but short of volunteering to get bitten, he didn’t see a way around it. He should be grateful that Derek was so willing to play hero to his victim. 

Laura laughed faintly, shaking her head. 

“What?” Derek asked. 

“You’re an idiot,” Laura said. 

“What? Why?” 

She just stood up and walked away, “I’m going to bed. Some of us have got work tomorrow.” 

Derek closed his eyes, “Oh crap.” 

“What?” Stiles asked. 

“My boss is going to kill me. I just ran out in the middle of work. How am I going to explain this?” 

“Look on the bright side. You might get fired.” 

Derek laughed. He kissed Stiles lightly on his uninjured cheek. 

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go to bed.” He caught Stiles’s grin and added hurriedly, “To sleep. Just to sleep. I don’t think either of us are in a mood for anything else.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Stiles said. “Besides, the knight in shining armour usually gets the rescuee.” 

“You’re half bruise,” Derek said. “We’re not doing anything tonight.” 

Stiles wasn’t sure if this was another case of Derek being chivalrous or if he just didn’t find Stiles all that sexy with his face bruised and one eye swollen shut. He couldn’t really blame him for that but he did want their relationship to proceed beyond kisses and magic-induced make-out sessions. Derek had been hesitant about the physical side of things. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was because of the age difference or the time travel thing or if maybe Derek wasn’t as attracted to him as he’d claimed. Stiles hadn’t pushed because he wasn’t sure he’d like the answer. He didn’t push now. 

Derek was all courtesy, letting Stiles use the bathroom first and politely waiting until he was done. Soon Stiles was cuddled up under the covers of Derek’s bed, thinking back over the events of the night. 

He hated being the useless one. He hated being the weak and squishy human who needed saving by the big bad wolves. He was supposed to be able to use magic but what was the point of having a wand if… 

“Oh.” 

Derek had walked back into the room. “Oh?” he asked. 

“I just realised. The hunters still have my wand.” 

He’d been so glad to get out of there that he hadn’t even thought about it. In the chaos of the brief fight, he didn’t know what had happened to it. It was probably still lying in their basement. Stiles suspected that going to ask for it back would be tantamount to suicide, and the werewolves couldn’t get it for him because they wouldn’t be able to pick it up. The wand was basically lost to him. 

“Can you make another one?” Derek asked. 

“Yeah, I can, but I spent so much time on it and now it’s in their worthless hands.” 

“At least they can’t do any damage with it.” 

Derek climbed into the bed beside him, reaching out a hand to rest on Stiles’s shoulder. 

“There is that, I guess,” Stiles said. 

***

Derek walked Stiles to work, insisting that Stiles shouldn’t walk the streets of New York on his own looking like a victim. A part of Stiles wanted to argue, to claim that he didn’t need babysitting, but logic wouldn’t let him. So he traipsed along beside Derek. 

They made a detour to the club, since Derek had to pick up his stuff. He’d left everything here last night, including his phone and his shirt, when he’d heard Stiles call for help. Derek let himself in through a back door that had a keypad lock. Stiles trailed behind into a little break room that smelled of alcohol and old sweat. Derek was just gathering up his things when a man walked into the room. It was the same man who’d spoken to Derek the first time Stiles had come here. 

“Hale, you have got a lot of explaining to do,” he said. “I know you didn’t want to work last night but if you say you’ll work, I expect you to work. You can just walk out in the middle without a word. If you don’t have a damn good explanation then you can…” 

He trailed off. Stiles had raised a hand, like a student asking for attention in class. The man had finally noticed him and was staring at the mass of blue and purple swelling that was the left side of Stiles’s face. 

“I was attacked last night,” Stiles said. “Derek came to help me.” 

The man looked Stiles up and down, “You look like you walked face-first into a wall.” 

“No, just the guy’s fist. Repeatedly.” 

The man’s anger seemed to soften somewhat. 

“Alright,” he told Derek, “but next time you need to go look after your boyfriend, you tell someone before you go. Got it?” Derek nodded. “And you’re working tonight to make up for it.” 

The man walked out before Derek could say anything. Stiles looked at Derek who looked as sullen as ever. 

“At least you didn’t get fired,” he said. 

“Damn,” Derek muttered. 

***

When they reached the magic shop, Amelia was getting ready to open up, putting sale signs on the remains of the Valentine’s Day display. She saw the glowing amulets and spun round to face the door as Stiles let himself in, Derek a step behind him. 

“What the hell happened?” she asked. She glared at Derek, “Did you do this?” 

“Of course not,” Stiles cut her off. “Derek’s the one who saved me. I got jumped by a couple of amateur hunters who’d seen me hanging around with werewolves.” 

“Are you OK?” 

“Yeah. Our alpha snarled a bit and chased them off.” 

Amelia looked between Stiles and Derek, concern still written on her features. 

“You seem surprisingly calm about this,” she said. 

“It’s not the first time I’ve been grabbed by hunters.” 

Stiles felt Derek tense up beside him. Stiles didn’t know what it said about him that he could treat this lightly. Compared to getting grabbed by Gerard Argent, last night had been amateurish. It probably said that he was too easy to kidnap. 

Amelia shook her head, “Hunters grabbing humans. We need to spread the word about this. There are other magic workers who could be in danger.” 

So Derek stuck around briefly, help Stiles tell Amelia about what had happened and what details they could remember about the hunters and their shop. She brought a computer out of the back room and set it on the counter so that they could look up more information and post warnings on some message boards used by the local magic community. Stiles had no idea these sites existed and would have loved to spend more time looking at them, but unfortunately some customers arrived and he had to do his job. 

“Are those supposed to be doing that?” one asked, pointing at the amulets, which were still glowing. 

“Yes,” said Stiles. “They glow like that when there’s a non-human around.” 

The customer looked suspiciously at Stiles, then over at the counter, where Derek was still working with Amelia. Derek rolled his eyes and then let them glow blue. The customer stared nervously, then bought a whole handful of the protective amulets. Amelia grinned as she rang up the total, and waited until the customer had left before turning to Derek and saying, “We should have you here more often.” 

Derek didn’t say anything. He just looked moodier than usual. Stiles suspected he didn’t like the idea of scaring people into buying protective spells. 

“We’ve got a reply on one of the message boards,” said Amelia, checking the computer. “Apparently, the hunters have disappeared. There’s no sign of them at the shop. I guess your alpha must have seriously scared them.” 

“Or the police were asking them too many questions and they decided to bail,” Stiles said. Either way, he was glad. It meant he might be able to go back and retrieve his wand, assuming they’d left it behind. 

Stiles was only scheduled to work that morning, so Derek stuck around with him, glowering at customers who dared to so much as stare at Stiles. There was a lot of staring. Stiles was beginning to think he should look up a glamour or something to hide the bruising. 

At lunchtime, Stiles said his goodbyes to Amelia and then he and Derek headed towards the hunters’ shop. 

“It’s possible their disappearance is a trap,” Derek said. 

“That’s why you’re here.” 

“You called these guys amateurs.” 

“Compared to the Argents, they are.” He saw Derek flinch and internally cursed his lack of tact. 

“We’ve fought the Argents in your future?” Derek asked. 

“Fought against them. Fought with them. They’re not all bad. Chris Argent is actually quite nice, at least once he stopped trying to kill you and Scott. He ended up practically adopting Isaac after…” He trailed off. The image of Allison lying dead on the ground surged in his vision, vivid as ever. He swallowed and tried to push down the memory. 

“After?” Derek prompted. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Stiles said. “We’re not going to let it happen.” 

Derek looked like he might have argued, but then he just nodded and they walked on in silence a little way. Stiles’s thoughts were on Allison, on the deaths caused by the nogitsune. He tried to tell himself that it didn’t matter, that he shouldn’t let the memories haunt him. He wasn’t going to let it happen again. 

Derek broke the uncomfortable silence, “So who’s Isaac?” 

Stiles gave a faint smile, “Your first beta. After you became alpha, you started recruiting misfits and outcasts to join your pack, offering them a place to belong. Isaac was the first to volunteer. I guess we’ll have to make sure that Laura offers him the bite in this timeline.” 

And they’d have to make sure that Erica and Boyd didn’t get brutally murdered, he thought. 

They reached the hunters' shop, finding it with a board over the broken doorway. It took almost no effort for Derek to grip the edges of the board and yank it out of place, giving them a way through to the darkness within. Metal grills were down over the windows, but the merchandise inside seemed undisturbed. Derek led the way inside, holding out a hand in a gesture for Stiles to wait. Inside, he sniffed and seemed to be listening. 

“We’re alone,” he said, “but be careful.” 

He added that last part as Stiles started to charge through to the steps and the basement room, looking for his wand. Stiles slowed down, checking for trip wires or other traps. It was gloomy inside, but there was no sign of danger as he headed down the steps. The basement was as it had been the night before, thought someone had taken care to move the broken cuffs. Presumably the hunters had hidden them before the cops had shown up. Or the cops had seen them and that was why the hunters weren’t here. 

Stiles felt the wand before he saw it, a faint warmth that seemed to beckon to him. He turned and saw the symbols glowing softly. He reached out and the wand leapt from the concrete floor, flying into his hand. The symbols blazed and he felt whole again in a way he hadn’t felt was missing. 

“OK, that was cool,” he muttered to himself. He’d have to try the Jedi force pull again back when they were somewhere safe. For now, he hurried up the stairs. 

Derek was still standing in the middle of the shop, sniffing the air. 

“I’ve got it,” Stiles said. Derek didn’t seem to notice. “What’s wrong?” 

“This place smells wrong. I can smell fear. A lot of fear.” 

“Well, you and Laura did a good job of terrifying those hunters.” 

“There’s something else as well.” Derek looked puzzled. “This place smells of fear and fire and... and Bookworm.”


	23. Chapter 23

Stiles closed his eyes and focused, calling up the power within, touching that warm core and feeling the sensation flowing along his arm and into the wand he held. The wand felt like a part of him, an extension of himself. He visualised what he wanted, summoning his will. He held the image firmly in his mind when he opened his eyes. 

He touched the end of the wand to the candle on the coffee table. 

“Burn,” he whispered. 

Sparks flared around the candle’s tip and the wick caught. A small, yellow flame glowed cheerfully. 

“Yes!” Stiles leapt up, punching the air. “Yes! Yes! YES!” 

He did a little victory dance, nearly knocking the candle off the coffee table as he did it. Laura walked in while Stiles was in the middle of his flailing celebration. She raised an eyebrow at him and visibly struggled to contain laughter. 

“I lit the candle,” Stiles said. “By magic.” 

“Congratulations,” she said. She was probably still laughing him inside her head, but she was polite enough to sound genuine. 

It was quite an achievement for Stiles. So far, his magic had been pretty but not all that useful in the real world. Admittedly, taking five minutes to focus in order to light a candle wasn’t all that useful either, but it was the first step on the road to fireballs and that would just be awesome. He had been spending more time reading the protection spells book, but they were mostly about protection from supernatural threats. There was very little that would be helpful in a fight with humans. It was frustrating. 

“Has Derek gone to work?” Laura asked. 

“He left about twenty minutes ago.” 

“Good. Come with me.” 

Laura had her serious alpha-face on, so Stiles didn’t argue. He grabbed his jacket, tucking the wand into the inside pocket, and followed her out of the apartment and down in the elevator. 

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked as they stepped out into the evening air. 

“It’s my duty, as alpha, to ensure the protection of the pack.” She sounded worryingly serious. Stiles was a little afraid that she’d decided he was a threat and was going to deal with him. That might be why she’d asked about Derek. 

He walked beside her along the street, wondering if he should attempt to run. Not that that would do him any good; Laura would catch him in a heartbeat. He didn’t have any mountain ash other than his wand. He could use that as a weapon against her, but he wouldn’t last more than three seconds. 

“What kind of protection are you talking about?” Stiles asked. 

Laura gave a slow shrug, “There are lots of threats. Other packs, other creatures, human hunters. It’s an alpha’s duty to protect the pack, but sometimes, the best protection is to ensure the pack members can protect themselves.” 

They’d reached a pair of glass doors. Laura stopped walking and gave Stiles a shove towards the doors. He stumbled a step and walked into the reception area of the building. A sign behind the reception desk declared this to be a twenty-four hour gym. The girl sitting at the desk flashed a smile that was brilliantly white. 

“Are you a member?” she asked. 

“He’s here for the self-defence course,” Laura said, giving Stiles another shove towards the desk. 

“I am?” Stiles asked. 

“Yes, you are.” She smiled at him, “Maybe next time you’ll be able to rescue yourself.” 

Stiles wondered if mind-reading was one of her werewolf powers. He’d been fretting about the fact he was the weakest, the person who needed rescuing, and here she was, with the solution to the problem. She was offering him a way to learn to fight. 

And she’d talked about making sure pack members could protect themselves. She’d been talking about him. He turned to her, holding down the smile in case it turned out he’d misinterpreted. 

“You think I’m pack?” he asked, his voice a faint whisper that the receptionist wouldn’t pick up. 

Laura put her arms around Stiles and whispered in his ear, “You howled and we heard you. Of course you’re pack.” She broke the hug and gave him another shove towards the receptionist, “Now go learn how to fight. I’ll be here to meet you at the end of the class.” 

Stiles signed in, discovering that this was the first session of a ten week course and that Laura had already paid for Stiles to be here. He had to sign a couple of disclaimers acknowledging the risk of injury and promising not to use these skills for illegal purposes. The paperwork dealt with, the receptionist guided him to a small, studio room with mirrors along one wall. He caught sight of his reflection, complete with bruises. His face was still interesting shades of blue and purple, fading to green in the edges. The instructor was in the corner of the room, unloading punch pads from a large bag. He was a tall, black guy and built along the same sort of lines as Derek, sleek muscle. He gave Stiles a nod of greeting. 

“Here for self-defence?” he asked. 

“Yeah. My boyfriend’s sister thinks I need to learn how to not get beaten up.” 

The man gave a grin, “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

“Really?” 

“The world is full of bigots and idiots and people who’d rather think with their fists than their heads. Steven Carcer.” He offered a hand. Stiles shook it. 

“Adam Smith,” the name came easily now, with almost no hesitation. 

Over the next few minutes, the room started to fill up. Most of the people taking the course were women, and most had more than a little grey in their hair. Stiles was glad when another male came in, but he was a scrawny kid a few years younger than Stiles was. Steven welcomed them all, shaking hands and getting names. He checked them off against a list and when there were about twenty people in the room, he had them line up. 

“Welcome,” he said, “to this introductory course in self-defence. I don’t want you to think you’ll be leaving here a master of martial arts, but I will be focusing on simple, practical moves and skills that you’ll be able to use to keep yourselves safe.” 

Steven was cheerful and enthusiastic, demonstrating moves and then getting them involved with apparently boundless energy. Stiles found himself liking him at once. They started off with some basic punches and blocks and Steven moved round the room, making small corrections and dispensing copious encouragement. 

They worked in pairs, swapping over occasionally as they moved on to different exercises. Soon, almost everyone in the room had asked Stiles about his bruises. He stuck to a simple explanation that had the advantage of being almost the truth. 

“A couple of guys saw me with my boyfriend and decided to beat me up when I was alone,” he said, several times. It was rather more understandable as an answer than telling them it was because his boyfriend was a werewolf. It got him nods of understanding and sympathy from the old ladies who were in the class to learn how not to get mugged. 

***

Laura dropped Adam off at the gym and then walked to Bookworm’s shop. Derek had told her what he’d smelled at the hunters’ place and Laura wanted an explanation. She knew that going in there and demanding answers was potentially dangerous but she was going to do it anyway. Adam was pack now and that meant it was her responsibility to protect him, even from dragons. 

Bookworm looked up from her reading when Laura entered, a pleasant smile on her face. Laura didn’t trust that smile an inch. 

“Hunters kidnapped Adam last week,” Laura said. 

“Yes,” Bookworm said. She wasn’t surprised by this news because it wasn’t news. 

“Derek said he picked up your scent at their shop.” 

“Yes,” she said again. Again, there wasn’t the slightest trace of surprise in her tone, just an acknowledgement of the facts. 

“Why were you at their shop?” Laura asked. 

“Because they kidnapped Adam.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

Bookworm closed the book she’d been reading. She lay her hands over the cover and looked thoughtfully at Laura. 

“How much do you know about dragons?” she asked. 

“Not much. Stories. Probably ones without much truth to them.” 

“Those stories may have a grain of truth at their heart. There are tales of dragons protecting a hoard of treasure, or guarding a princess against unworthy knights. That is what we do.” 

Laura tried to picture Adam as the princess in a fairy tale, guarded by a dragon, and had to suppress a smile. Now wasn’t the time for that sort of thing. 

“Are you saying that you’re guarding Adam?” she asked. 

Bookworm gave a slow nod, “For now.” 

A flare of anger and suspicion filled Laura but she forced herself to remain calm. Her voice was perfectly steady as she asked, “What exactly does that mean?” 

“Right now, Adam is like a caterpillar creating its chrysalis. He is in the process of becoming.” 

“Becoming what?” 

“That is an excellent question,” Bookworm smiled. 

“And the answer?” 

Bookworm leaned forward, her smile widening in a most disconcerting way, “We will find that out together.” 

“You don’t know?” 

“I suspect. Until I know for sure, I will protect him. I give you my word on that. I will protect him from hunters, from less friendly werewolves, from himself. He still believes that events will be better if he kills his younger self; I will not let that happen. I will do all in my power to keep him safe.” 

“And when he’s finished becoming whatever the hell he’s apparently becoming?” Laura asked. 

Bookworm gave her a long, serious look, “I will make no promises for then.” 

***

The self-defence classes were fun. Twice a week, Stiles went to the gym and practiced basic fighting moves and how to get away from an attacker. He was surprised how much he enjoyed it. Unfortunately, Laura wasn’t satisfied with just that and had instigated her own form of torture for him. Twice a week, on the mornings when she wasn’t working, they would go jogging. Stiles had absolutely no say in this whatsoever. 

He knew he wasn’t the least fit person in the universe but that didn’t make things any better as he was panting along beside Laura, who had an unfair advantage with her werewolf stamina. 

On yet another Sunday morning, she dragged him from the warm comfort of Derek’s bed and forced him out into the cold, spring air. About the only good thing about the situation was that he was working off some of the frustrated energy caused by the fact that sleeping was all he got to do in that bed. Derek said he was attracted to him, but Stiles had yet to see any evidence to support that claim. 

On this particular morning, a thin rain was drifting down, filling the air with chill moisture. It seemed to sap the energy right out of him as he slogged along beside Laura. She didn’t seem to even notice. 

He wondered if he could use magic. Whenever he tapped into the power, he felt a warmth inside him, an energy. Maybe he could tap into that now, the way that the werewolves tapped into their power, or Kira did. Maybe he could draw on that to give him strength. 

Eyes open, feet still moving, he let himself slip a little into the calm state which he used to gather magic. He reached down inside himself for that glowing core of power and felt it flow through his veins, tingling through his fingers and down to his toes. He felt the strength of it infusing his limbs. 

He ran a little faster. 

Laura matched pace with him, giving him a confused look. Stiles felt a smile settle on his face, the comforting presence of the magic easing away the pain of exertion. He could run. He could dance. He could laugh. He could do anything he wanted. 

Right now, he wanted to go faster. 

Feet pounded against damp sidewalks. They passed pedestrians, dodged between people and worked their way along the streets. 

He ran on, faster than he normally would, further than he normally would, until Laura was having to work beside him to keep up. Was this what it felt like for Scott? This power. This speed. He could touch the moon! 

He’d never have to be the weak one again. He could be strong. He could be powerful. The next time he faced danger, he could be the one able to defeat it. By himself. He wouldn’t need to be rescued. He wouldn’t need to be saved. He wouldn’t need anyone. 

His body was still singing with energy when they returned to the apartment block, Laura red-faced from effort. She was looking at him with curiosity, and with worry. Stiles wanted to laugh at her concern. No one would ever need to be concerned about him again! He was strong now. 

He grinned at her. 

“What did you do?” she asked, between laboured breaths. 

“I tapped into the magic to give me energy,” Stiles said. He could still feel it, tingling through his whole being, but the run was over. He could let it go. 

With a slow breath, he eased back his will, letting the magic dissipate into the thin rain. 

In that instant, everything hurt. He was aware momentarily of the pain and then the darkness flooded his vision.


	24. Chapter 24

“Derek, get your lazy ass out of bed,” Laura’s voice called, filled with worry and urgency. Derek was awake in an instant, out of bed and leaving the bedroom. Laura was struggling through the front door, Adam unconscious in her arms. She laid him on the couch and then went back to the door, retrieving her keys from the lock. 

Derek hurried to Adam’s side, touching a pale cheek and finding the skin cold and clammy, though whether from sweat or rain, he didn’t know. He took Adam’s wrist, and felt the feeble flutter on his pulse. 

“What happened?” Derek asked. 

“I’m not sure. We were running and he started going faster and faster. He said he tapped into magic to give him more energy. Then he just collapsed.” 

Derek had his hands on Adam’s shoulders, looking into the unresponsive face. 

“Adam? Adam, can you hear me?” Nothing. He looked to Laura, “Should we call an ambulance?” 

“I don’t know. If this is a magic thing, is an ordinary doctor going to be able to help?” Laura looked calm, but there was a note of panic in her voice. Neither of them were used to dealing with human injuries. They didn’t have the knowledge necessary. 

“Bookworm?” he suggested. 

Laura hesitated, “If we can’t get him to wake up in the next hour, then we’ll call her. I don’t want Adam any more indebted to her than he is already.” 

Derek didn’t have the same level of distrust about Bookworm as Laura, but even he had to admit that she seemed to have too great an interest in Adam. Maybe it was best to keep her out of this, but Derek wasn’t going to risk Adam’s life. 

Adam just lay there on the couch, completely unconscious, pale as death. 

Laura started talking, considering possibilities. She sounded almost like Adam in her nervous rambling. 

“OK, so he said he used magic to give him more energy, but that has to come from somewhere. Maybe he just overexerted himself and all he needs is to replenish that energy. That would normally be done by sleep. Sleep and food. Maybe we should get him to eat something. That’s what you’re supposed to do if someone faints, right? Give them something to get their blood sugar up?” 

That last was said in the tone of someone who’d never fainted in her life. She went to the fridge now and grabbed a carton of orange juice. She poured a little into a glass and returned to the couch. 

“Help him sit up,” she said. 

Derek lifted Adam up and sat on the end of the couch, so that he could rest Adam’s conscious form against him. Slowly, Laura tipped a little juice into Adam’s mouth. He swallowed by reflex, much to Derek’s relief. It wasn’t much, but it was a little sign that Adam wasn’t completely gone. Sip by sip, Laura and Derek helped Adam drink the rest of the juice. It might have been Derek’s imagination, but he thought that Adam’s cheeks weren’t quite as pale. 

She poured another glass and handed it to Derek. 

“Keep going,” she said. “I’m going to get something a little more substantial.” 

She hurried out. Derek stayed where he was, one arm around Adam to hold him upright, the other pouring the juice a tiny bit at a time into Adam’s waiting mouth. Adam still showed no sign of consciousness, no indication that he was aware of any of this, but he had no difficulty in swallowing down the liquid. Derek wondered if that was a sign that Laura was right. Maybe he did need energy and his body was acting on instinct to claim it. 

Adam swallowed the last of the juice in the glass. Derek couldn’t even reach to the coffee table to set the empty glass down, not without disturbing Adam who was still slumped against his chest. Derek couldn’t do anything but sit there and hold him, and wait for his heart to start beating properly again. He didn’t know what he’d do if Adam died. 

Adam was the first person he’d opened up to in a long time, the first person other than Kate he’d let himself care about, the first person who wasn’t family that he’d trusted since… since Paige. If Adam were gone, then he’d be left with that emptiness again, the emptiness he hadn’t even noticed had been there until Adam had shown up to fill it with his constant chatter and his boundless enthusiasm. Adam was always so energetic, constantly fidgeting or moving or something. Adam being this still just wasn’t right. 

“I need you to wake up,” Derek said quietly. “I need you to be OK. I don’t know how to help you get well and I don’t know what I’ll do if don’t. So you’d better get well. I’ve lost enough people and I’m not going to lose you too. You hear me, Adam? You can’t die because I won’t allow you to. So you damn well better get better. Or else.” 

There was a faint stirring of the body he held, not quite enough to count as movement. Adam’s eyes didn’t open, but there was a flicker of eyelids. His mouth opened to give a soft murmur. 

“I’m not good at doing what I’m told.” 

The voice was quiet even to werewolf hearing, but it was enough to banish the chill terror that had been flooding Derek. 

“Adam?” Derek asked. 

There was nothing else. No movement, no more words, nothing, but one fully-formed sentence had been almost more than he could have hoped for. It was a good sign. Derek hugged Adam to him, leaning his face into Adam’s hair, breathing in his scent and his closeness. Derek’s tears added to the dampness in Adam’s hair. 

Laura returned a little while later, bearing several cartons from the organic soup place. She carried them over to the coffee table and looked down at Adam. 

“He looks a bit better,” she said. 

“He spoke a few minutes ago, but I’m not sure he was actually awake.” 

Laura checked the soup cartons and then opened up one containing a thin, clear broth. She fetched a spoon and started to feed Adam again, a mouthful at a time. It was slow progress, feeding Adam like a baby, but there was undoubtedly more colour to him now than there had been earlier. Derek could only hope that meant he’d be alright. 

The soup was nearly gone when Adam stirred again. This time, he opened his eyes, looking with some confusion at Laura. 

“Hi?” he said, voice quiet. 

“Hi,” she said. “How are you feeling?” 

“Hurts.” 

“What does?” 

“Everything.” His words came slowly, sleepily. His eyelids drooped and he looked like he might fall asleep again at any minute. 

Derek shifted his hand to rest on the skin of Adam’s arm, trying to draw the pain from him. It didn’t work. He wasn’t sure Adam had even noticed. Derek exchanged a worried look with Laura. 

“Adam, I need you to finish your soup,” Laura said, “then we’ll let you sleep for a bit. Can you do that?” 

Adam lifted a hand, no doubt aiming to take the spoon from Laura, but his hand shook. He let the whole limb flop back down onto the couch. 

“Let me,” Laura said. 

“’M not a baby,” Adam complained, but he opened his mouth willingly as Laura spooned more of the soup for him. Soon, the carton was empty. 

Derek handed Laura the empty glass he was still holding and then he lifted Adam up so he could slip out from under him. He lay Adam back down on the couch. Adam’s eyes were already shut, but he was no longer so pale and it looked like he was sleeping normally. 

“He can have the rest of the soup when he wakes up,” Laura said. 

***

Adam slept for the rest of the morning. Derek spent almost the entire time sitting beside him in the living room, watching for any change, good or bad. Laura didn’t try to dissuade him from his vigil. Instead, she kept ducking in and out of the room, making checks of her own. She also spent some time on her computer, looking up what should be done to counter severe exhaustion, but it seemed that food and sleep were the recommended remedies. 

In the early afternoon, Adam woke. Mostly. He still seemed slow and sleepy, but he was more coherent than he’d been earlier. 

“Do you know what happened?” Derek asked. 

“I tried to use magic to get extra strength,” Adam answered. “As soon as I stopped drawing on the magic, I had nothing left. My body had to deal with the fact I’d just run faster and further than I’m normally physically capable of and the effects caught up with me.” He started to move an arm under him to push himself to a sitting position. A second later, he flopped back down, saying, “Ow.” 

“Where’s the pain?” Derek asked. “I can draw it out.” 

Adam shook his head, “I pushed my body further than it could physically take. I didn’t notice because the magic was hiding the pain. I should feel it for a while to make sure I don’t do it again.” 

“Are you hungry?” 

“God yes!” 

Derek warmed up one of the cartons of soup, this one a thick lentil and vegetable soup. He carried it over and helped Adam sit up. Adam managed to hold the spoon himself, but his hands were shaking and Derek kept his hand on the bowl to keep it steady. Adam didn’t meet Derek’s gaze as he sat feebly swallowing. 

“I’m an idiot,” he said. 

“You’re still figuring out this magic thing.” 

“Yeah, but if I’d kept running for much longer then the come down would probably have killed me. I shouldn’t try things without thinking them through first.” 

Derek hadn’t really considered before how dangerous this playing with magic could be. Adam was figuring things out as he went along. The new moon ritual had had unexpected side effects, but nothing to put their lives in jeopardy. This was different. Yes, Adam could learn from his mistakes, but the wrong mistake could be lethal. 

Adam finished his soup and Derek took the bowl from him, setting it down. Adam then gave Derek a nervous, worried look. 

“We’ve got a problem,” he said. 

“What?” 

“I need to pee.” 

Adam couldn’t stand on his own, so Derek carried him into the bathroom. Adam’s face definitely had colour now. He was flushing scarlet from embarrassment when Derek had to help him take him pants down while he sat on the toilet. 

“This is so humiliating,” Adam said. “You must hate me right now.” 

“No. I don’t hate you. I couldn’t hate you. I love you.” 

Derek hadn’t meant to say that. From Adam’s face, he hadn’t expected to hear it. For about two seconds, Adam just stared up at him. Then he started to laugh. 

Derek was overwhelmed with a memory that had haunted his nightmares. The day after the fire, facing Kate and declaring that he didn’t believe she could have done it, telling her he loved her. She had laughed in his face. 

Now Adam was laughing too. Of course Adam didn’t love him. Who would? 

Derek needed to get out of there, to run, to throw up, to hide somewhere and shut out the memories. To shut out the sound of laughter. 

“Oh god! Crap. I’m sorry,” Adam babbled. He reached out, even as Derek retreated, and tried to grab Derek’s hand. His legs wouldn’t support him and Adam ended up on his hands and knees on the bathroom floor, pants still around his ankles, staring up at Derek. Derek just pulled his hand out of reach. 

“I didn’t mean it that way. I shouldn’t have laughed. I just... this situation. That’s what I was laughing at. Not you. Never you. It’s just... you were declaring your love to me while I’m on the toilet with me pants around my ankles and it struck me as surreal. I wasn’t laughing at what you said, just where we are. I promise. I love you.” 

Derek had backed away to the bathroom door but now he froze, staring down at Adam, who was still on his knees, still pleading. He looked stricken, terrified. He looked like Derek felt. 

“I love you,” Adam said again. Derek didn’t hear a lie in those words. He took a step back towards Adam, who continued, “And I still need to pee.” 

***

A few minutes later, Derek helped Adam back out to the couch. Laura was there, her coat on. She told them she was going out for a bit and then winked. She must have heard their awkward exchange in the bathroom. Derek glowered at her all the way out the door. Adam just turned red again. 

“Well,” he said, “I think we’ve set the record for the least romantic declaration of love ever.” 

Derek grinned. Partly because Adam was right and now he could see the humour of it, but partly because Adam had said those three words. But behind the grin was a core of pain that he couldn’t quite shift, because the moment had brought back the memory of Kate so vividly. 

“I am sorry,” Adam said, “about laughing. I didn’t mean to laugh at you and I know it must have looked awful.” 

“She laughed,” Derek said quietly. 

“She? You mean Kate?” 

Derek nodded. 

“Oh god!” Adam said again. “And then I laughed and... I am such a screw up.” 

“No.” 

“No, I am. You were expressing feelings, which is probably enough to bring you out in an allergic rash and then I do something that makes me look like _her_ and that’s just... even I don’t have words for how screwed up that is.” 

“It’s not your fault. It’s my past, my issues.” 

“If you’re about to say ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ I may have to slap you for abuse of clichés.” 

Derek raised an eyebrow at him, “You can’t even lift your arms right now.” 

Adam lifted up one arm and just looked at Derek, his expression managing to convey without words that a slap was definitely a possibility for the future. Then Adam reached that arm out and rested it on Derek’s shoulder. 

“I’d been starting to think that you didn’t really like me after all,” Adam said. “Because, you never seemed to want... us. I mean, when we were high on magic we were all over each other but afterwards, you’d be kissing me and then just... stop.” 

Adam hadn’t said anything, but Derek would have to be an idiot not to have noticed Adam’s frustration. They would get close, they would be kissing, and then Derek would think of Kate. It was like her ghost was living in the back of his brain, popping up whenever he got close to Adam, telling him that no one would really care about him, that he was going to get his heart broken again. 

“I want to,” Derek said, looking at Adam now. “I really want to. But I’m scared.” 

“Scared?” Adam looked like he wanted to laugh again. “The great Derek Hale is scared?” 

“Yeah,” Derek said. “I’m scared about what will happen when you decide to leave me, when you find someone better, someone less broken.” 

He looked away, but Adam put a hand on his chin and turned his face back so that they were looking each other in the eye. 

“Derek, I can’t promise that you and I will be together forever because, I mean, just look at the divorce rate in this country. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I just know that here and now, I love you. And I’m as terrified that you’ll find someone less weird and talkative and consumed by guilt and plagued by nightmares and prone to magical mishaps, and you’ll leave me broken hearted.” 

“Never,” Derek said. 

“Then let’s be broken together.”


	25. Chapter 25

It took Stiles several days to recover. For the first couple of days, he couldn’t do much of anything for himself and spent most of the time asleep, waking only to be fed soup by the Hale siblings, whose knowledge of medicine seemed to be fixated on the fact that people got chicken soup when they were ill. It wasn’t long before he was able to stand up on his own long enough to go to the bathroom or to stumble from one room to another, but there was a deep ache still throughout his body and an exhaustion that filled him constantly. 

Derek called in at the magic shop to tell them that he wouldn’t be in to work and Stiles had to miss two of his self-defence classes, but by the end of the week, he was ready to get back to his life. He wasn’t back up to full strength, but he took his next shift at the shop anyway. Laura fussed around him, packing him a lunch and insisting that he get a cab to the shop because he shouldn’t walk all that way. He could see Derek smirking behind Laura’s back. 

At the shop, Amelia was on duty and she insisted on getting the whole story behind his absence. Stiles told her everything, embarrassing though it was, and they had a serious discussion about the dangers of magic and the problems inherent with figuring these things out alone. 

“It’s not like I can go to Hogwarts and have lessons,” Stiles said. “Where am I supposed to learn what not to do?” 

Amelia thought about the question seriously for a minute and then got out her phone to call Neil. Half an hour later, the magic shop officially announced that they would be hosting a series of workshops about magic. Stiles wrote a sign and they mentioned the idea to every customer who came into the shop that day. It would be an opportunity for beginners to learn and for more experienced practitioners to share the information that they’d learned the hard way so that other people would have an easier time. 

A lot of people assumed that it was a ploy to get them to buy more stuff, but plenty more were eager to attend. They held their first session the following Saturday. It was small. There were only eleven people, including Stiles, Neil and Amelia, but the people who showed up were eager to learn. There were a couple of goths from the local high school, some college girls who came in regularly, and a few older customers who tended to ignore the gimmicks and go straight for the real spell components. 

Neil started off the workshop with a discussion about energy. It was all fairly theoretical, talking about the casters drawing energy from themselves or from outside sources to power spells. He talked about conservation of energy and all the things Stiles had wished he’d known about before his jogging experiment. 

Stiles spoke up next, explaining what had happened to him. He kept his tone light, joking about his mistake rather than dwelling on the seriousness of what might have happened, but he could see it hit home for some of the people listening. 

One of the older guys spoke up, telling a story about how he’d decided to try to warm his apartment with magic during a cold winter. He’d drawn in energy to heat his home. 

“But all I was really doing was moving it around,” he said. “I nearly froze my neighbours because I was pulling in heat from their homes and just redistributing it. Even with magic, you can’t escape the laws of thermodynamics.” 

That got a chuckle, but sparked off serious discussion. One of the kids needed thermodynamics to be explained and then the group started talking about the principles and how they mattered in magic. Stiles through in the quote about how advanced technology was indistinguishable was magic and they discussed the idea that magic was just science they didn’t understand yet. 

“I mean, look at magnets,” he said. “I hold a magnet over a piece of metal and invisible forces move that metal around. Sounds like magic to me.” 

Amelia ended the gathering by joining them all together in a ritual to invoke the elements. It was a familiar enough ritual now, with the pentagram and representations of the elements, plus a quartz crystal for the moon. Amelia made the thing considerably more splendid that the rituals Stiles had performed alone, including using one of the altar cloths embroidered with a silver pentagram. The whole group formed a circle around the pentagram. While Amelia spoke the ritual words, Stiles joined in with the others in gathering his will and invoking the elements. 

In that moment, he felt connected. The warm tingle of magic inside him reached out through his hands to touch the magic of those beside him, and through them to the others. They were joined together, their magic, great or small, flowing into the circle, adding to the whole. He felt the power coming into him, erasing the residual weakness left by the jogging incident, making him feel reborn as someone stronger. 

As the pentagram glowed, he felt the joy in the circle, the thrill of magic being born. He felt the power dancing through him and he knew the others did too. Together, they could be magnificent. 

At the ritual’s end, he looked about and saw smiles on the faces of all present. 

“Wow,” said one of the college girls, “that was... it was...” 

“Better than sex,” her friend finished, which got a laugh. Stiles knew what she meant. There had been a moment of togetherness that nothing else in this world could equal. No longer were they separate people fighting their way through life. For that moment, they had been part of something bigger. 

***

In the apartment the following day, Stiles experimented with the ritual, trying to draw power from the elements again. He started much as Amelia had, with the pentagram and the physical representations, but then he tried to simplify it. If he were in a dangerous situation, he doubted an enemy would let him sit down and light candles and pour out water. He tried the ritual again with just a drawn pentagram and the letters A, F, W, E and a crescent moon at the points. He’d wondered about trying to draw symbols for fire and earth and so on, but he didn’t trust his abilities as an artist. 

He set that piece of paper in front of him, focused his will, and watched the ink lines glow. He felt the warmth inside that he was beginning to recognise. It was nowhere at the same level as last night, but last night had been the work of many, not one. It would be enough to give him some power if he needed to use magic to fight. 

But he knew it might not be enough. The hunters had taken his wand from him easily enough. He couldn’t rely on having a pen and paper and his hands free to draw a pentagram. He needed some way to ensure he always had this. 

Which was why Derek found him standing topless in front of the bathroom mirror, drawing a pentagram on his chest. 

“What are you doing?” Derek asked. 

“Experimenting.” 

“After last time?” 

“If this works, it will give me strength, not take it away.” 

"And if it doesn't work?" 

“I’ll just have a lot of ink on my chest. Now shut up, I need to concentrate.” 

He focused his will. He envisioned what each part of the symbol represented and summoned to mind thoughts of that thing. When he wrote the F, he filled his mind with fire, with how it looked, with how it warmed him, with the fierceness and destruction and the life-giving light. He moved on, letter by letter, until the symbol was complete, touched with a piece of the thing it symbolised. 

The light began as he finished inking the crescent of the moon. Silver flowed along the lines of ink, tingling across his skin with the promise of power. He felt strong. He felt a conduit to more power, waiting from him to reach out and take it. 

He released his will with a long slow breath and splashed water over his face to ground him. As before, the cold water almost instantly washed away the sensations the magic brought. He dried his face, stared into the mirror and focused his will again. 

It took about a minute, but he could create that link to the power and the lines took on a silver glow again. 

So he didn’t need to redraw the pentagram every time. Like Amelia using the altar cloth with the pentagram stitched on it, he could use an ink pentagram that was already drawn, the symbols of the elements already a part of it. He wouldn’t need candles and incense and all the rest of it, just ink. And he could make it so that no hunter could ever take it from him. 

“My dad is going to kill me,” he muttered. 

“Why?” asked Derek, who’d been sitting on the edge of the bath and watching him with concern. Stiles turned to look at him now. 

“Do you know somewhere around here that does tattoos?” 

***

Watching Scott get a tattoo had been traumatising enough. Stiles would have been quite happy to pass out and let the big, ink-covered tattoo artist just put the tattoo on his unconscious body. Unfortunately, the spell required focus and concentration, neither of which would be possible if he were out cold. So Stiles sat in the chair and tried not to work himself into a panic, while Derek held on to his hand. 

“Relax,” Derek said, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “I’ll draw out the pain.” 

So Stiles wouldn’t feel it when the inky guy started sticking needles into his flesh. He watched the tattoo artist get ready. 

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Stiles said. 

“Could be,” Derek teased. “It was, after all, your idea.” 

“You’re mean.” 

Derek smiled, “Yes.” 

The tattoo artist looked like he was trying not to laugh. He came to stand beside Stiles. 

“Last chance to back out,” he said. 

Stiles closed his eyes and told himself that this was stupid. He’d faced down monsters far more deserving of terror than needles. He’d been paralysed by a kanima, he’d attacked a werewolf with a baseball bat, and he’d confronted a demon with his own face. He shouldn’t be scared of this. Besides, this might help him against the things that were worth fearing. 

“Do it,” he said. 

When the man started work, Derek’s hand tightened its grip and he grimaced, but Stiles felt no pain. Derek had taken it all. He could just feel a pressure as the tattoo artist’s needles pressed ink into his flesh. 

Stiles watched the lines form and thought about their meanings. He thought about the pentagram at the heart of the ritual, an ancient symbol of magic and of warding against evil. He thought of the elements and the power they possessed. He thought of the moon and the way it influenced nature and the supernatural forces in his life. He held those thoughts tightly and wrapped them in his will, watching the inked design take shape. 

“That’s not supposed to happen,” the tattoo artist said. The ink lines were glowing silver. 

“Just keep going,” Derek told him. Stiles couldn’t say anything. He was still trying to hold his focus, keeping the power of the spell going until the mark was finished. 

The tattoo artist looked nervous, almost scared, but he kept going, finishing off the ink. Then he stepped backwards and the whole design shone silver on Stiles’s skin. Stiles felt the power flowing into him. He felt the energy of nature breathing into him. Then he let go of his focus and the glow faded, leaving only the black ink against slightly reddened skin. 

The tattoo guy cleaned the tattoo and bandaged it up, still giving Stiles funny looks. He gave Stiles instructions for washing it and a small jar of ointment. Only when that was done did he ask, “What the hell was that light?” 

Stiles exchanged a look with Derek. He didn’t want to say magic, because doing so might get people interested in Derek. He didn’t want to endanger the pack. 

“I’ll pay you double if you promise not to mention the light to anyone,” Stiles said. 

“You got it. I’m not sure anyone would believe me anyway. They’d think I was high and people would start sniffing around to shut me down.” 

Stiles paid, and then walked with Derek back to the apartment, resisting the urge to scratch at the tattooed skin. 

“You should get the triskele,” Derek said, “to show that you’re part of the pack.” 

“I’m not a wolf.” 

“You’re pack.” 

Stiles knew that the triskele was the mark of the Hale pack. He knew how much it meant to Derek. And now Derek was suggesting that Stiles mark himself permanently with it. This wasn’t some idle chatter. This was Derek officially inviting Stiles into the pack. 

The second they were back inside the apartment, Stiles grabbed the back of Derek’s head and pulled him in for a kiss. Maybe he was still buzzing slightly from the energy of the spell, maybe he was just moved by the true meaning of Derek’s words. Either way, Stiles was sick of waiting. 

He broke the kiss and looked Derek in the eye. 

“I want you,” Stiles said. He was afraid that Derek might say no, that he might say he wasn’t ready, that he might still be suffering doubts because of Kate. But Derek met his lips in another kiss. He shrugged out of his jacket, lips still locked against Stiles’s. Stiles stripped his own jacket off. They stumbled towards Derek’s bedroom, shedding clothes between kisses. 

Once inside, Stiles was filled with a sudden terror that was worse than the needles. What if he wasn’t any good? 

The first time was awkward. It was all fumbling and hesitations and second-guessing and nervous enquiries as to what felt good. They lay together on Derek’s bed, naked except for the bandages over the new tattoo, and brought each other to pleasure with their hands. 

Stiles had imagined his first time, particular a first time with Derek, to be all fireworks in the sky and fanfares. That had been about on a par with playing with himself in the shower. He lay beside Derek on the bed in mutual stickiness and stared at the ceiling. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek said. “It’s been a long while.” 

“It’s been my entire life,” Stiles said. Then he wondered if he should apologise too. “Sorry, I guess I don’t really know what I’m doing.” 

“Sorry,” Derek said again. “I should have been more prepared. I could have had something ready to make your first time more...special.” 

Stiles propped himself up on an elbow and looked at Derek, who was probably ready to deal himself a truck load full of guilt about this. 

“That doesn’t count as my first time,” Stiles said. 

“Why not?” 

“Because I say so. That was just the dress rehearsal, to get us both ready. The real first time starts now.” 

Stiles leaned over to lick Derek’s nipple. Derek laughed. 

“You’re insane,” he said. 

“Yes,” Stiles said. He licked the other nipple, just for balance. His body wouldn’t be ready to go again for a while yet, magical energy notwithstanding, which gave Stiles plenty of time to map every inch of Derek’s bare flesh and cover it all with kisses.


	26. Chapter 26

They decided that the next workshop would be about defensive magic. This was a topic that Stiles felt comfortable with teaching others about. Derek had to work, so Stiles persuaded Laura to come along to help him with a demonstration. She joined the group in the shop and pretended not to notice the nervous looks people were giving her and the glowing protection amulets. 

Laura helped clear a space in the middle of the shop, moving aside a couple of tables, with displays still set up on them, so that Stiles would have space to work. That done, Stiles went to the shelves and picked up a large jar of mountain ash dust. 

“I’ll run this through the register tomorrow,” he told Amelia. Then he turned to the little group, “I’m going to show you the first piece of magic I ever learned. It’s simple, it’s easy and it’s astonishingly effective.” He gestured for Laura to stand in the middle of the empty space in the floor and he started pouring the dust out in a narrow line, forming a circle of black powder about a metre wide. 

“This is mountain ash,” he said as he poured. “It’s very useful for protective magic and as a guard against supernatural creatures. I’m making a circle, but the shape doesn’t matter and the size doesn’t matter. I’ve made a barrier around an entire club with this. Don’t worry about the thickness of the line or whether it’s even. The only thing you need to worry about is making sure that the line is unbroken.” He was back where he started now, with just a tiny gap keeping the circle from being complete. “When you get to this stage, you just will it closed.” 

He finished, pouring a little dust into the gap to form an unbroken circle. Now that he was more aware of the magic inside him, he could feel his power sparking the barrier into life. He straightened and looked Laura in the eye. 

“Try to cross the barrier,” he said. 

She reached out a hand slowly. When it would have crossed the circle, she stopped, as though pressing against a window. Blue energy showed where her hand met the barrier. She pressed harder and the blue energy seemed more solid. 

“She can’t cross the barrier,” Stiles said, “but I can.” 

He waved a hand over the barrier, even through the energy around Laura’s hand, with no more resistance than empty air. 

"Is that because you made the barrier?” one of the girls asked. 

“No. It’s because I’m human. Any human can cross the barrier. Most non-humans can’t. At least not easily. If something’s got enough power, then with some time and effort they can break through but the barrier should slow them down long enough to run away and if you’re up against something strong enough to break through the barrier, you probably should run away. The problem is that the barriers don’t differentiate between friend and foe, just human and not. That time I mentioned with the club, I put the barrier up to trap a particularly nasty creature but I had to drop the barrier to let in a werewolf because there were other people inside and one of them was in the process of getting murdered.” 

He branched out then to talk about how to prepare for it, mentioning the security system in Scott’s house and the barriers at Deaton’s clinic, though he obviously didn’t give any names. 

“If you have the barrier mostly ready,” he said, “it just takes a couple of seconds to complete it. And to break it, you just need to break the line.” 

He crouched down, put his hands over the line of dust and moved them sharply apart. The movement of the air and the force of his will moved the dust aside just a fraction, breaking the line. Laura stepped out of the circle to demonstrate. 

Stiles held out the jar with a little bit of dust still in the bottom, “Anyone else want a try?” 

A few of the others had a go at making the barrier, trapping Laura in the ring of dust, and then breaking it. Stiles talked about the sort of things the mountain ash would stop, reciting what he could remember of the list from his book of protection spells. Once all the was done, Stiles got the dustpan out of the back room and swept up the mountain ash to put back in the jar, while Neil and Amelia moved on to other subjects. 

One of the high school goths asked about the amulets, which were still glowing blue in Laura’s presence. 

“Amulets are traditionally used for protection,” Amelia said, “but protection can take many forms. There’s warning about something potentially dangerous around.” She glanced at Laura. “No offence.” 

Laura shrugged, “I can be dangerous.” 

Amelia continued, “Other amulets protect against negative energies, stopping the wearer being attacked at a spiritual level. I’ve even seen one amulet that creates a physical shield, but that’s beyond my skill to make.” 

Stiles was aware of Neil looking at him when Amelia said that. He wondered if he could create something like that. After all, his wand was supposedly most effective with protective magic, so a shield might be possible. It was definitely worth looking into; a physical shield might be helpful if he came up against hunters again. 

Amelia was still talking, “An amulet is more effective the more specific it is. These ones,” she gestured at the display, “are generic. They will protect whoever is wearing the amulet. If I were to make one for a specific wearer, I would be able to build what I know of that person into the spell and the amulet would be more effective for protecting that person than it would be for anyone else. The better I know the intended wearer, the better the spell would be. It would also be almost useless for protecting _against_ the intended wearer.” 

“So,” said one of the older guys, “if you made an amulet for me and it got stolen, I could use magic against the person who stole it and it wouldn’t protect them.” 

“Essentially, yes. But we’re not advocating using magic to harm another person.” 

“Of course not. I’m just making sure I understand.” 

Amelia talked through the basics of creating an amulet, which seemed to follow the same principles as creating a wand. It involved marking something with a symbol representative of the desired effect and then invoking the elements and the moon to imbue the amulet with power, a ritual preferably done on the night of the new moon. 

“Isn’t the full moon more magical?” asked one of the college girls. 

“Actually, the new moon is a time of rebirth and particularly useful in creation spells,” Amelia answered. 

“Or magic to do with sexual energy,” Stiles said, before he thought about it. He suddenly found everyone in the group staring at him. Laura laughed quietly as Stiles turned red. 

“True,” Amelia said, drawing attention away from him again, presumably out of pity. She kept talking about things to think about in creating amulets. The ones on sale in the shop were all metal, but that required some serious tools to work properly. Amulets could be made out of just about anything, but there were certain woods that were noted for protection properties, such as mountain ash. 

“I knew one guy, a hunter,” a man said, “who made a protective necklace out of the teeth of a guard dog.” 

“Creepy,” said Amelia, “but probably effective. A guard dog would be intrinsically associated with protection which would add to the amulet’s focus.” 

The discussion wrapped up a little while later and then Stiles headed home with Laura, clutching his jar of mountain ash dust. He needed to make sure that this stuff didn’t get in the way of the werewolves. 

“Thanks for your help,” Stiles said. 

“No problem. It was quite fun watching your coven work.” 

“It’s not a coven.” Laura raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Oh my god, I’ve got a coven.” 

***

Laura’s birthday was coming up. Derek let it slip one day when Laura was out at work, suggesting that they might go out for a family dinner. Stiles, who had been experimenting with ideas for amulets, decided that a homemade birthday present might be on the cards. A protective amulet couldn’t hurt, given that he was trying to save her life. Not that his book of spell included an amulet for protecting against getting ripped in half by a homicidal relative. 

He spent about an hour playing around with design ideas and eventually decided that he would make two different amulets. He would try to make the physical shield, in the hope that she could use it to hold Peter off, but he would also make one more spiritual in purpose. Both Laura and Derek had referred to Stiles as pack now and he wanted to give her something that represented that. 

He discussed options with Amelia the next time he had a shift at work, and he decided on using wooden discs as the basis for the amulets, since he already had wood-carving tools. Amelia could order a stock of the discs from the same supplier that the shop got the wand woods from. She also hinted that if the amulets proved effective, he might want to make a few extra to sell in the store. 

“I’m not sure I’m good enough to sell this stuff,” Stiles said. 

“Neil said you were a natural with the moon-blessed water,” Amelia pointed. “We’ve nearly sold out because people have noticed that this batch is more potent than normal. We may have to put the price up for the water you bless.” 

In the end, Stiles promised to think about it and see how his first efforts with amulets worked out. Amelia seemed to accept that and placed an order for the discs. 

***

It was Derek who worked out the plan to get Laura out of the apartment so that Stiles could make her birthday present. She’d be able to tell if either of them lied to her, so Derek went with the option of telling her the truth, just missing a few details out. Derek let her know that Stiles had been asked to attempt making amulets for work and that he wanted to perform a ritual at the new moon.

“You’ll probably want to go out with your workmates that evening,” Derek said. When she looked at him critically, he said, “You remember what happened last time Adam tried making something on a new moon.” 

“Are you sure you won’t need me here to throw water on you?” 

Stiles and Derek exchanged a look and said together, “We’ll manage.” 

Stiles laughed, feeling himself starting to turn pink. Simultaneous sentences; he and Derek really were a couple now. 

“It shouldn’t be as bad as last time,” Stiles said, “because it’s not the new year as well.” 

“And because you’re no longer a virgin,” Laura said. There were no secrets when living with werewolves. 

The plan worked. On the day before the new moon, Laura went out to work as usual but Stiles had the day off. He took out the discs of wood from work and started carving. He made several, because he would need to have something to show Laura to avoid her getting suspicious. Plus, he wanted to practice before starting on the present. 

The first one he made was a shield. He’d thought about what Amelia had said about blocking physical objects and so he focused on that idea. He pictured a shield, like a wall of energy, between the amulet and an unknown attacker. He imagined a barrier, picturing arrows and bullets bouncing off an invisible wall. Then he picked up his tools and started to carve. 

He kept the carving simple, with just some circles inside each other and then a star in the middle. He held the mental image of the shield until he finished the carving and set the tools and disc down on the coffee table. 

“You’re glowing,” Derek said. He’d been sitting at the kitchen table, watching, no doubt worrying that someone would go wrong. Stiles looked at him now, puzzled. Then he looked down and saw the faint glow show through his t-shirt from where the pentagram was inked onto his skin. He hadn’t even noticed that he was drawing power, which was a little worrying but a lot cool. 

“Awesome,” he said. 

Derek shook his head, amused. He came over to Stiles now and looked at the carved disc, which was about an inch wide. It looked like an over-large wooden coin. 

“This looks familiar,” Derek said, running his fingers over the carving. 

“It’s the Captain America shield.” Derek raised an eyebrow. “It was a shield I could carve, OK? Plus, the movie was awesome. Will be awesome. I’m taking you to see that movie when it comes out.” 

Stiles had a feeling that Derek was laughing at him so he shooed him away and started work on the next disc. 

This time, he filled his mind with the fear of having someone else inside his head, of having another power controlling him. All his old nightmares flowed into him and he pictured a door that was slightly ajar. He visualised closing that door, locking it and bolting it, sliding home security chains, keeping the door securely shut. He imagined the door changing from fragile wood to solid metal, like a bank vault, something that no one could get through. He imagined alarms and tripwires and traps, that would stop even the most determined intruder. 

Then he started carving, scratching the backwards five symbol that was the kanji for self. This was an amulet to protect the mind, to keep the wearing from having their very soul invaded by an outside force. 

He made half a dozen carved discs that day, working more quickly now that he had with the wand. He made one with a smiley face that was designed to protect against negative thoughts and one with a danger symbol that was supposed to light up if someone nearby intended violence against the wearer. Then he worked on the amulets intended for Laura, since he felt he was getting the hang of this now. He made another shield one for her, but included Laura in his visualisations. He pictured Laura holding up a barrier between herself and threats. He deliberately called up the desire to keep her safe. 

For the final amulet, he carved the triskele symbol. He thought of Laura and her connection to the pack. He thought of the way she acted sometimes, almost motherly, like when she made him warm milk after nightmares or fetched him soup when he was ill. He pictured her in the kitchen, preparing the Thanksgiving feast as a pack celebration. He pictured her laughing with Derek. He pictured the way she’d told him she was protecting him, protecting the pack, when she took him to his first self-defence class. Laura was one but she was also part of a whole. Stiles drew in those thoughts as he cut the curved lines of the triskele into the wood. Laura would always have a connection to her pack, a reminder that there were people who loved her. 

When the sun set, Stiles had to perform the ritual to bless the amulets. He decided to experiment with using his tattoo, rather than drawing a new pentagram and using the physical representations as he had with the wand. He figured that if this didn’t work, he could always go back to that method. 

He took off his t-shirt, which earned an appreciative eyebrow raise from Derek. Stiles ignored him, gathering the little collection of wooden discs into his left hand. The tattoo had turned scabby and gross for a couple of weeks, but now the black lines stood out clearly against his skin. Stiles pressed his hand against his chest, holding the discs between his palm and the tattoo of the pentagram. 

He picked up the wand with his right hand and gathered his will. The ritual words came easily now as he called the elements and asked their blessing. The letters on his chest took on a faint, silver glow as he did so, until he invoked the moon. Then the whole symbol shone, his fingers seeming pink as the magical radiance gleamed through them. The warmth of magic seemed to flow out from that point, filling his body and tingling through his fingers where he touched the discs. The wand in his hand blazed gold, the two lights twining together as though woven into one by a jeweller. 

“I ask the elements to bless these amulets,” Stiles said, “that they might protect their wearers from harm. I ask the moon to grant her power to preserve and keep those who use these tokens of her influence.” 

Stiles let out a long, slow breath, and felt the power flowing out of him. The wand and the discs were warm to his touch, from more than just the borrowed heat of his body. He could feel the power inside them. 

The glow faded to darkness. As he lowered his hands and looked at the amulets, the symbols he’d carved there were the last to lose their light. 

“Impressive,” Derek said. He was smiling, a soft look that showed a hint of teeth. Stiles, still warm with the energy of the spell, wanted to pounce on him and try cleaning those teeth with his tongue, but the desire wasn’t as overwhelming as last time. He still had some semblance of self-control. 

“I want to test them,” Stiles said. He couldn’t test the one for invasion of the mind, or the two he’d made specifically for Laura, but he could check others. He picked up the shield amulet he’d made for anyone to use. He held the little disc out in front of him between finger and thumb, aiming the shield-side towards Derek. He pictured an invisible wall and focused his will into making it real. 

“Throw something at me,” he said, still holding the image of the wall in his mind. 

Derek tossed a pillow, not particularly hard. It bounced off empty air in front of Stiles. Derek raised his eyebrow again, this time with an expression of admiration. Stiles was getting the hang of interpreting Derek’s eyebrows. 

“I should hide the ones for Laura,” Stiles said, “so she doesn’t see them before her birthday.” 

They went through into Derek’s bedroom and tucked the two carved discs into the back of Derek’s sock drawer. Then Stiles turned to face Derek and kissed him fully on the lips, working his hands under the back of Derek’s t-shirt, feeling the smooth skin. 

When they broke the kiss, there was a faint, silver sparkle in Derek’s eyes. 

“Hiding them was just a ploy to get into the bedroom, wasn’t it?” Derek teased. 

Stiles leaned in and nuzzled at Derek’s neck, murmuring between kisses, “Nope. Entirely coincidental.” 

Derek pulled away. Stiles made an involuntary noise of disappointment, but then Derek grabbed him by the waist and flung him onto the bed. Stiles bounced slightly on the bed, excited grin turning into a giggle. 

Derek looked part animal, a hungry, predatory look in his eyes. He was staring intently at Stiles, that gaze only broken when Derek yanked his shirt over his head. He climbed onto the bed and crawled his way up in, leaving a trail of kisses up Stiles’s torso until he reached the tattoo, which Derek seemed determined to trace with his tongue. Stiles bit down another giggle and worked his hands into Derek’s hair. 

“Come up here so I can kiss you,” Stiles said, tugging gently on Derek’s hair until Derek slid further up the bed and into kissing range. 

Derek ground his hips, groins rubbing against each other through the fabric of their pants. The warm energy of the spell seemed to be shifting inside Stiles, clamouring for release as much as his physical body. He tried to reach between them to find the buttons of their flies, but, what with the movement and the fact that Derek started nibbling on his earlobe, his fingers fumbled repeatedly. 

After at least a minute of this, Derek made a growling noise that was part annoyed and part amused. He grabbed the waistband of his pants and yanked them down, to the sound of tearing fabric. The button flew off, bouncing across the bed and onto the floor. Stiles laughed again as he shed his own pants, getting them off quickly before they too fell to Derek’s destruction. 

The two moved in unconscious rhythm as the magic danced through them. Stiles could feel that power still a part of him, felt it as pure life itself needing to celebrate the act of being. With fingers and kisses, he mapped out Derek’s flesh, light touches brushing over unblemished skin. For this moonless night, they were one being, joined in magic. Their physical forms completed the joining and completed the spell, with Derek driving his length into Stiles, skin against skin. 

His breath came in warm gasps against the back of Stiles’s neck, until Stiles’s own breaths fell into sync with them. Their bodies worked together, the magic dancing along their skin and through their limbs until it burst out of them in the explosion of their mutual climax. 

***

Afterwards, they lay in a sticky and tangled mess, Derek’s sheets twisted around their legs. That had been what Stiles had always imagined, though the details seemed slightly fuzzy already, until all he was left with was the feeling of unity and completeness. It seemed magic had managed to turn reality into the unbelievable picture painted by porn sites. 

Tired, from the aftermath of love-making and the drain of the magic’s departure, Stiles just stared up at the ceiling while Derek’s fingers idly traced the pattern of Stiles’s tattoo. Stiles’s brain was drifting along random pathways, finding new topics of thought and then drifting on again. 

“I wonder if the tattoo shop is still open,” he said. 

“You thinking of getting another?” Derek asked. 

“Yeah.” 

“The triskele?” There was undeniable hope in Derek’s voice. He wanted Stiles to say yes. He wanted Stiles to be marked as part of the pack, as linked to him forever more. A large part of Stiles wanted to say yes, but some instinct shied him away. The moon was dark in the sky tonight; it wasn’t the right night to join a wolf pack. 

“Not tonight,” Stile said. “The phase of the moon is wrong. Besides, Laura should be here.” 

“What were you thinking of then?” 

“I was thinking of the amulets. Even if I had an amulet, I might get in a situation where I might lose it or have it stolen or something. I was thinking I could get an amulet tattooed on me somewhere. That way, I’ll always have protection.” 

Which was how, after a short delay while Derek hunted for non-ripped pants, the two of them set off for the tattoo parlour. The artist recognised them at once; apparently glowing tattoos made an impression. 

Stiles explained what he wanted, drawing out the designs and explaining the placement. He would have the shield tattoo on the back of his left wrist, so he could control it by moving his arm around, as though he had a literal shield on that arm. But he would also get the kanji symbol tattoo on his skin, just behind the ear. 

“There’s a mark here already,” the artist said. 

“Yeah. I know.” The mark left by the oni had faded, but it was still there as a faint, white line, like a scar. But that mark was a sign that he’d been free at the time, not a ward against future possessions, so he wanted the symbol redrawn. 

As before, he sat on the chair with Derek’s hands on his skin to draw out the pain. Stiles performed the ceremony almost as he had up in the apartment, but saying the words in his mind instead of out loud. This time, the tattoo artist kept on working when the inked lines started to glow, but he still looked more than a little freaked out about it. 

He drew the circles and star of the shield design, while Stiles held the mental image of the invisible barrier. Then he inked the kanji symbol while Stiles visualised locking the door in his mind. When he was done, both symbols were glowing silver, along with the pentagram on Stiles’s chest. 

While the guy bandaged up the new tattoos, Derek leaned down and whispered in Stiles’s ear, “You look unbelievably hot when you’re glowing.” 

Stiles was buzzing with magical energy again so it took a lot of self-control not to just have sex on the tattoo artist’s chair.


	27. Chapter 27

Laura always looked forward to her birthday. She would take the day off work and do something just for herself, and then spend the evening with Derek. This time, she’d booked a massage and had a nice relaxing time with something pummelling her muscles into liquid. She returned home to find the guys dressing up in a way that approximated smartness. It seemed they’d booked a nice restaurant for dinner. 

“But first,” said Adam, “presents.” 

He held out a package, small enough to sit on the palm of her hand. He was smiling, excited and a little nervous to see her reaction to its contents. She tore the paper to see what lay within: a necklace made of two wooden discs, polished and glued together so that a carved symbol faced out from either side. A leather cord threaded through a narrow hole. She turned it over, studying the carvings, Adam’s shield symbol on one side and the triskele on the other. 

“It’s beautiful,” she said. Adam’s grin widened. “Will it work for me, though? I’ve never heard of a werewolf being able to use human magic.” 

That grin faded to doubtfulness. 

“It should work,” he said. “It’s imbued with my magic, not yours. The book didn’t say anything about amulets only protecting humans.” 

“There’s only one way to find out,” Derek said. So they put the amulet to the test. On Adam’s instructions, Laura held the amulet out in front of her and focused on creating a shield. 

“Visualise an invisible wall in front of you,” Adam said. 

Laura couldn’t resist, “Visualise something invisible?” 

“You know what I mean. Imagine it’s there, keeping you safe.” 

Laura did this, trying to resist the thought that she probably looked like an idiot. She’d seen Adam working his spells several times now, but she’d never really imagined what it must be like inside his head. It was hard to keep her mind focused on the task, but she imagined that there was a wall of energy around her, ready to stop whatever came her way. 

Derek tossed a cushion from the couch. It hit empty air in front of her and slid down the invisible wall until it hit the ground. Laura grinned with triumph at having succeed, but it was Adam who punched the air and spun in a little, excited dance. 

“Booyah! It might still take me five minutes to light a candle, but I make damn fine protection spells.” 

Laura laughed lightly at his enthusiasm and gave a nod of agreements. “That you do,” she said. “But what about the other side?” 

Adam talked about connection to the pack, about using the amulet to ensure she always felt the pack’s support with her, no matter where she was. It was really sweet and she wasn’t entirely sure if he just meant Derek when talking about the pack, or if he was talking about himself too. Derek had told her that he’d suggested Adam get the pack mark but that he’d said it wasn’t the right time. She needed to talk to him about it, and soon. It wasn’t a decision to be taken lightly, by either of them. She needed to make sure Adam understood what he’d be accepting. 

But that was a problem for another night. For now, she would just enjoy her birthday. 

Derek’s present was a window box filled with herbs: basil, oregano, chives, thyme and parsley. Until now, she’d used the dried herbs in her cooking. It would be nice to have fresh ones. She thanked him and hugged him. Then she opened out one arm and beckoned at Adam to join them in this hug. She stood there for a moment, an arm around each of them. 

Maybe it was the amulet doing its job, but she felt a real sense of pack. It felt right. A pack should be more than just two of them. 

***

She tore up some leaves from the new basil plant and dropped them into the tomato sauce. Beside her, Adam was chopping up carrots. She didn’t want to startle him, so she waited until he’d put the knife down before she spoke. 

“Do you want the bite?” she asked. 

He was startled, spinning round to face her with a sudden spike in his heart rate and a look that was almost fear on his face. 

“What?” 

“Do you want it?” she repeated. “I know we’ve talked about you being part of the pack, so I wanted to give you the choice. It’s up to you.” 

Adam looked nervous. Laura knew he was going to say no and he looked unsure of how to say it. Laura didn’t mind. She wasn’t going to be offended if he didn’t want it. Being a werewolf wasn’t for everyone. 

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about it,” Adam said. “I mean, it could have been me on the night that Scott got bit and I’ve been offered it before. The guy that offered me was a mass murdering psychopath, so I definitely didn’t want to be in his pack, and Scott sort of hinted when we thought I was ill that he’d do it. But I know there are risks involved. I’ve heard the story about Paige. Right now, I’m healthy and I’m learning skills that will let me be useful even without werewolf strength, so it seems like a big risk to take.” 

Laura reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, smiling. His stream of words stumbled to a halt. 

“It’s OK,” she said. “You can just say no.” 

“It’s not like I’m completely set against it. I mean, if it turns out I’ve got some debilitating illness, then I might take you up on the offer, but for now, I’m OK being me.” 

“OK then,” Laura said. She took the carrots that he’d prepared and added them to her sauce, continuing with dinner preparation as though this was no big deal. Adam wasn’t as quick to let it go. 

“I can still be in the pack, right?” he said. “Even if I’m human?” 

"Of course you can.” She turned to him and pulled him in for a brief hug, before returning to her cooking. She didn’t look him in the eye when she continued, “But we should talk about the pack mark.” 

“I know.” 

“Derek told me he asked you to get marked.” 

“Yeah, and a part of me wants to, but it’s a very permanent thing. I mean, if I get your pack symbol as a tattoo, I can’t get rid of it. So what happens if Derek dumps me or something? I’m then stuck with a mark of a pack that I’m no longer a part of.” 

“I’m not sure you quite understand that seriousness of this,” Laura said. “Joining a pack isn’t like joining a club. Once you take the mark, it’s permanent. If you get the tattoo, you’ll be part of the Hale pack for the rest of your life.” 

The whole thing was rather more complicated than that, with the possibility of kids marrying into another pack. One her second cousins had married a werewolf from another pack and taken their mark. If she’d been marked as Hale, her husband would have had to join their pack, or the marriage wouldn’t have been possible. That was why kids in the Hale pack weren’t allowed to take the mark until they were eighteen and most waited until they were either married or old enough to figure they weren’t likely to be. She and Derek were different. They’d gotten the mark together shortly after the fire; they weren’t going to let the pack just disappear. 

“Adam, don’t rush into any decisions. There’s no deadline on this. If you take the mark, you’re making a commitment to this pack for the rest of your life.” 

“A commitment to Derek, you mean? This is basically werewolf marriage.” 

“Not quite. We’d generally have marriages too, but joining the pack is a big deal for everyone involved.” 

“Wow... I... But what if he changes his mind?” 

And in that short question, Laura saw the true source of Adam’s fear. He wasn’t afraid of the bite, or dying, or turning into a werewolf. He was afraid that Derek would decide Adam wasn’t good enough for him. He was afraid of being dumped, of joining the pack only to have it all taken away again. He was afraid of being alone. 

“Adam, Derek knows what the pack marking means. He wouldn’t have suggested it if he didn’t want you to be part of this family.” 

Adam stood there for a moment in silence. Then Laura heard the faint sound of a sniffle. 

She turned off the heat under her sauce and pulled Adam into another hug. He stood stiffly for about half a second before he returned the hug, leaning into her. She worked a hand in soothing circles on his back while his body shook, quiet sobs muffling themselves in her shoulder. 

“People died,” he said. “People died because of me. I shouldn’t... I shouldn’t be happy.” 

Survivor’s guilt. Laura had been to see a therapist a few times after the fire and she’d heard the phrase applied to her own feelings enough to know what Adam was going through. The first time she’d laughed after her family died, it had felt like she was betraying them. But their situations weren’t the same. There was nothing she could do to bring her parents back, or her cousins, or aunts or uncles, or her little sister. Adam was different. 

“It doesn’t matter what happened,” she said, “because we’re going to change it, right? You’re going to fight to make sure they don’t die. You’re a good person, Adam, and you’re going to protect them. So you are allowed to be happy.”

He didn’t say anything. He just hugged her back. 

***

“What can I do for you this time?” the tattoo artist asked as Adam walked into the shop, Derek and Laura following in his wake. Adam nodded a greeting to the man and gestured to Derek. 

“I want a tattoo like the one this guy has.” 

Derek lifted his t-shirt over his and turned round so that the artist could see his back. Laura was glad he was here, because she wasn’t keen on stripping off her top to show a stranger her pack mark. 

“Exactly like this one,” Derek added. 

“You’ve got it.” 

The artist got Adam set up so that he was lying on his front on a sort of padded bench, shirt off and bare back exposed. The artist sat in a chair beside him, while Laura and Derek found a space on either side of Adam to each take one of his hands so that they would be linked for the marking. They weren’t going to be drawing pain from him though; it was right that he should feel this. Derek stood with his back to them so that the guy could see his tattoo, so Adam turned his head towards Laura and smiled at him. 

“You ready for this?” she asked. 

“Probably not,” he said, but he was grinning. “Let’s do it anyway.” 

Laura nodded to the artist, who set to work. Adam grimaced at the pain but he didn’t move, letting the lines of black in form against his skin, the marks of the Hale pack. Laura wasn’t going to cry, not here in public, but a part of her wanted to. For so long it had been just her and Derek. Now they were starting to get a real pack again. 

Adam’s hand tightened in hers. She wasn’t sure if it was a reaction to the pain, or if he too felt the significance of this moment, the moment he became linked with them forever. 

The guy finished, setting down his tools and frowning in puzzlement at the curling lines of ink. 

“Huh,” he said. 

“What?” asked Laura. 

“It’s not glowing.” 

Adam twisted round to look the guy in the eye, “You sound surprised when a tattoo _doesn’t_ start inexplicably glowing?” 

“When you’re involved, yes. I’m still trying to figure out what you are. Erm... no offense.” 

Adam chuckled, “Believe me, I’m still trying to figure that out myself.” 

Laura left Derek and Adam to finish up and headed back to the apartment, stopping via an off license on the way to acquire a bottle of cheap champagne. She arrived back just after they did and held the bottle up to show them. 

“I’m not letting you get drunk,” she told Adam, “but we should celebrate this moment.” 

They didn’t have champagne glasses, so she poured a small measure into the bottom of three tumblers. They each took their glass and clinked them together, smiling. Adam’s hand was linked with Derek’s and Derek was glowing in a way Laura hadn’t seen since before the fire. 

“Welcome to the pack, Adam.”


	28. Chapter 28

Stiles walked into the apartment after work to find a very strange sight. Derek was sitting on the couch, Laura sitting on the floor in front of him. She had a book in her hands, positioned so that Derek could read it over her shoulder, even as she read aloud. 

They both glanced round as Stiles walked in. He felt like he was intruding. He wondered if he should just walk right back out again and leave them to this. 

He recognised the book in Laura’s hands. He’d seen it only once, but that time had been enough to make an impression. It was A Little Princess, the cover worn and faded, the pages dog-eared from many readings. It was the book Laura read when she missed her parents. 

Stiles was about to leave when Derek shifted position on the couch, bringing his arm up to create a space beside him. He gave Stiles a smile and a nod, a silent invitation. Stiles crossed the room, kicking off his shoes as he went. He sat down on the couch and leaned against Derek, Derek’s arm coming round to rest on his shoulder. Laura waited until he was settled, feet tucked up beside him, and then she continued reading. 

“’She seldom cried.’” Laura read aloud, “’She did not cry now.’” 

It was a tale of grief, at that point in the story at least, a reminder that pain, though terrible, could at least be shared with others who understood. Laura read on in a quiet, steady voice. When she reached the bottom of a page, she would continue on without a pause, the following words familiar enough that she probably didn’t even need the book at all to recite them. 

This was a ritual to them. This was like putting flowers on a grave. Stiles wondered if this was the anniversary of the fire. He’d read plenty of articles about it, back when Scott had first turned, but he couldn’t remember that detail now. 

Laura read to the end of the next chapter and then she set the book down. She stood up slowly and walked to the kitchen to get a glass and fill it with water. Derek didn’t move, so Stiles didn’t move either. He didn’t know if this was the end of the ritual or just a pause. 

In the kitchen, Laura got out a bread knife and some plates and only then did Stiles notice the scent that had been filling the apartment. Fresh bread. It was a beautiful aroma that had been in the background but now Laura cut three thick slices and buttered them, working between sips of water. She carried the plates to the others and then positioned herself on the floor again. 

Stiles, more than a little confused, tore a little corner off the slice of bread and put it in his mouth. Like he’d expect from Laura’s cooking, it was delicious. The bread was strangely dense, as though packing all that flavour into each tiny mouthful, with a rich, yeasty taste. 

“It’s not as good as Dad’s,” Laura said. Stiles had been thinking that he’d gone to some sort of bready heaven, so he wanted to say something reassuring. Instead, it was Derek who answered. 

“It never could be,” he answered. 

Stiles wasn’t sure if that was some metaphysical statement about the essence of pleasure itself, about how the bread alone could never be as good as sharing bread with a loved one. Or maybe the reality could never live up to an exaggerated memory. Or maybe their dad really had been that good at making bread. Stiles felt like any comment he could make on the subject would be the wrong thing to say. 

The silence continued while they ate. At last, Stiles knew he had to say something. 

“There will be justice,” he said. “At least, there was in my timeline. The people involved in causing the fire all ended up dead, and Harris was able to give the police information about the arsonist so that they were able to make her crimes public knowledge. Not about you guys being werewolves or anything like that, but about the fact that she’d killed your family. I don’t know if that helps at all.” 

Derek squeezed the arm that he still had wrapped around Stiles’s shoulder. 

“It helps,” he said, “a little bit.” 

"Yeah," Laura agreed. “It helps.” 

***

Spring gave way to summer and Stiles had to face the fact that the Hale apartment did not have air conditioning. As a workaround, he started experimenting with ice magic. He persuaded Neil to order in some copies of a book on the subject to include in their summer display, along with a sign about keeping cool with magic, just so that he could buy one. 

He spent some time trying the spells for lowering temperature, freezing water and calling up the water element as part of a request for snow. After countless abortive attempts, he made a surprising discovery: he could make the spells work if he hummed Let It Go from Frozen. 

That probably said something significant about his subconscious if the idea of ice magic was so intrinsically linked to that song in his mind. He could try to figure it out. Or he could just go with it. A bit of experimenting showed that the more enthusiasm he put into the song, the more powerful the magic became. Which was why he was dancing around the living room, singing a slightly off-key and occasionally forgetful rendition of the song, while snow fell around him in an indoor blizzard. 

“Let it go! Let it go! I’m one with the wind and sn- um sky!” He spun around the couch and aimed his wand upwards. Another flurry of snowflakes burst out of the end and then slowly started to drift downwards. “Let it go! Let it go! You’ll never see me cry!” 

The apartment door opened and Laura walked in. She stared at Stiles and at the falling snow. 

“What the hell is going on?” she asked. She seemed more amused than angry, so Stiles just laughed, aware of how ridiculous he must look. After all, she hadn’t seen the film so she couldn’t know that his singing actually fit the context. 

“This will make perfect sense in a couple of years,” he said. 

“I seriously doubt that.” 

“Come on! Dance with me.” 

He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the middle of the room. He started singing again, waving his wand in wild dance moves that sent glittering snowflakes flying through the air, icy crystals catching the sunlight that shone through the apartment windows. 

“My power flurries through the air into the ground! I can’t remember the next bit!” 

He kept singing with full enthusiasm despite the fractured lyrics. Laura burst out laughing while Stiles sang a few la las until he got to the next line he remembered. 

“One thought crystallises like an icy blast. I’m never going back. The past is in the past. Let it go! Let it go! And I’ll rise like a thingy thing.” 

Laura was nearly doubled over from laughing. Stiles spun around her, a whirlwind of snow blowing with him. 

“Let it go! Let it go! That perfect girl is gone.” 

Laura was turning purple, gasping in breaths around laughs that shook her whole body. The only reason she was still standing was that she was leaning against the couch, holding herself up. Stiles kept singing. 

“Here I stand in the light day. Let the storm rage on! The cold never bothered me anyway.” 

He flung a pose, arms outstretched, snowflakes falling all around him, the living room glittering with ice. Laura was still laughing. It took her several minutes to stop. She would seem to get control of herself and then burst into fits of laughter all over again. When she finally managed to breathe again, there were still explosions of mirth that came between the breaths. 

“You are completely insane,” she said. 

“Quite possibly,” Stiles admitted. 

She made him clean up the snow before it melted into the couch and carpet and caused water damage to the whole place, but it had been worth it to see her laugh like that. There had been so much pain in her life that Stiles was glad he could do something to make her happy. If it took making a fool of himself to do it, so be it. He wondered if there were any other Disney songs he could humiliate himself to for her benefit. 

***

A couple of weeks after the blizzard incident, Laura was watching a fairly mindless comedy on the TV, letting her brain turn into a puddle of mush after a day of difficult clients, when Derek and Adam returned. They’d been out to see some superhero movie Adam liked, and now they came back, eating ice-creams and laughing. Derek was smiling broadly, happier than Laura could remember seeing him. There was ice cream on his nose and Adam seemed determined to lick it off, while Derek was playing a sort of keep-away with his face. 

They didn’t even seem to see Laura until they were well into the room and then Derek flushed with embarrassment. No doubt he didn’t like the fact his big sister had seen him acting like a little kid. Adam was unashamed. He took that moment to finally get to the ice cream smear and claim victory. 

Derek jabbed his own ice cream at Adam’s cheek, leaving a vanilla splodge. 

Adam didn’t seem to mind. He just grinned at Derek and said, “Aren’t you going to clean up your mess.” 

Derek gave Adam a shove towards the bedroom. Moments later, they were shut behind the door, but it didn’t take long for the sounds of giggling and kissing to be more obvious than the jokes from the TV. Laura hit the off button on the remote. 

“I’m going out,” she called. “Don’t wait up.” That caused another burst of Adam’s giggling from inside the bedroom. 

She waited until she was in the elevator before she started laughing. She never would have imagined Derek being... cutesy. It was hard to believe now how suspicious she’d been when Adam had first arrived. Seeing them now, seeing Derek so happy, she couldn’t help but believe that Adam’s arrival had been the best thing that could have happened to this family, to their pack. Derek being relaxed and cheerful with another person was nothing short of a miracle. 

She reached the lobby, wondering what she was going to do to distract herself until they’d finished whatever they were doing up there. 

Then she spotted the corner of paper sticking out the slot of their mailbox. Someone had put a letter in there. She quickly grabbed her key and unlocked the box, pulling out an envelope that was addressed to her, but which didn’t have the usual logos of utility companies printed on it. She tore open the envelope and saw a single piece of a paper folded inside. It was a print out of an article, along with an image of a dead deer, with a spiral cut into its side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One reader has pointed out a problem with the timeline. Apparently lacrosse season is in the spring - which I didn't know. 
> 
> I was assuming, from all the lines in the first episode about first day back at school, that the first season started after the summer break. It seemed to fit, given that a few weeks later there was the winter formal at the end of the season. 
> 
> It's too late to fix this error now without rewriting the entire story - so from this point on, this story is set in an alternate universe where lacrosse is played in the other half of the year. I hope that works for everyone. :)


	29. Chapter 29

Laura marched into Bookworm’s shop and placed the sheet of paper down on the counter, on top of the novel Bookworm was currently reading. She had neither the time nor the inclination to be polite. 

“I need you to tell me everything you can about whoever sent this,” Laura said. 

Bookworm picked up the paper and read it slowly, a puzzled look on her face. Laura fidgeted and fretted while she finished. At last, Bookworm set the sheet down again. 

“Well?” Laura asked, when it seemed Bookworm wasn’t about to speak. 

“Nothing,” Bookworm said. 

“This is not the time for you to hold out on me!” 

“I’m not holding out. Whoever sent you this must have printed it out and then sent it without reading the printed copy. The only person I’m picking up anything about is you, and what I’m getting is not pretty.” 

Laura gave a frustrated growl. Of all times for Bookworm to become useless. 

“You can’t tell me anything?” she asked. 

“You know who you need to ask about this message.” 

Laura sighed, “Yeah I know. It’s just... he’s happy.” 

They were both happy, Adam and Derek. Adam had been singing like a Disney princess lately and he deserved to have his happy ever after. Laura knew that when she went back up to that apartment and showed him this, they’d be heading back to Beacon Hills to find the werewolf that killed her in the other timeline. She knew there would be hunters and fights and death. And Adam would have to face whatever gave him those nightmares that woke him up screaming. 

And she and Derek would have to face the burned out shell of a house that they’d sworn they’d never go back to. 

It wasn't fair to either of them. She hadn’t gone straight upstairs with this bit of paper because she would interrupt them in the final stages of their date night and she couldn’t bring herself to do that. 

“Laura,” said Bookworm quietly, “don’t do what you’re thinking of doing.” 

Laura wasn’t sure if she’d read her intentions in some mystical way from the piece of paper, or if she was just reading the thoughts on her face. 

 

She sighed again, “You’re right. I’ve got to go back there and tell them so we can decide what to do next as a pack.” 

Bookworm gave a quiet nod. She looked relieved. Laura picked up the piece of paper with the article about the strange deer and the cut which was her packs symbol for revenge. It had trap written all over it, even if not in mystical energies for Bookworm to pick up on. It was bait, sent to lure her back to Beacon Hills and that set a burning fury in the pit of her stomach. She hated being manipulated and she had a suspicion that the sender of this mysterious picture wasn’t the only person trying to manipulate her. 

She could see a book on the shelves behind the counter that didn’t fit with the others. Amongst all the old tomes and books of mystical knowledge, was a tired paperback. It was the book Derek had bought for Adam and that Adam had traded in for Christmas gifts, given a place of honour in Bookworm’s hoard. There was more going on here than just someone trying to get Laura back in Beacon Hills and it was all to do with Adam. 

“What’s your angle?” she asked Bookworm. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Why are you so keen for me to show this to Adam?” 

“Because it’s the only sensible thing to do. Right now, he’s the one with information and not you.” 

“And information is the key for you, isn’t it?” Laura couldn’t yell at the person who sent her the article, but she could yell at Bookworm. “Is that what you want? You want Adam to read this so you can get more information from him?” 

Bookworm seemed almost amused at Laura’s anger, but there was a seriousness in her eyes despite that. 

“It’s not like that,” Bookworm said. 

“So what is it like? Is it about him ‘becoming’ or whatever you were on about before?” 

Bookworm didn’t answer. That was enough of an answer for her. Bookworm had her own motivations here, her own schemes, and that they were twisted around her pack like cobwebs so fine that Laura couldn’t see all of the threads. She needed to figure this out, speaking out loud in the hope that Bookworm’s expression would give her a clue. 

“You want me to show this to Adam,” she said, thinking about what was certain to happen if she did that. “If I do, we’ll all pack up and go back to Beacon Hills. You want him to go there don’t you? Mom used to tell me about the lines of power that ran through our territory. Is it something to do with that? You think he can tap into that power?” 

“This isn’t just about power. You know that if you go back there without his knowledge, you will die.” 

It sounded so perfectly reasonable that the level Laura’s suspicion somehow managed to increase. Bookworm had never cared about Laura except as a customer, not until the connection with Adam. She was just trying to play on Laura’s fears. 

“Not necessarily,” Laura said. “I have some information from him already, knowledge that the other version of me wouldn’t have had.” 

She knew that the person who’d sent the paper was a werewolf and that he was male. She knew that there would be hunters in town. She even had a name, Harris, of someone connected to the fire. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough to help her find out who was trying to trap her before the trap closed. She also had magic that the other her hadn’t had. She reached up now for the wooden amulet around her neck, fingering the carved disc. She could protect herself. 

And if she could keep Adam out of it, she would keep him safe. 

“You’re being a fool, Laura Hale,” Bookworm said. She walked out from behind her counter, as though coming close to Laura would convince her. Laura took a nervous step back, not keen for another display of Bookworm’s power. 

“Maybe, but Adam’s had enough people trying to use him. I’m not going to let you be another one.” 

“Do you really think that keeping something of this magnitude a secret will help him? Do you even think you can keep it a secret long?” 

“Long enough.” 

She was still fingering the amulet. She needed to protect Adam and right now that meant keeping him from finding out she’d gone for as long as possible. Bookworm wasn’t going to cooperate with that. The moment Laura left, Bookworm would tell Adam everything. Laura had to keep that from happening. 

She remembered her birthday, the way she had called up a shield. Could she do it again but make something that would last longer? She knew what she needed, a cage of energy to hold Bookworm here while she made her escape. She traced finger and thumb over the carvings, the pack symbol and the shield. She called up all her feelings, her need to protect Adam and Derek, her need to keep them safe. She willed the shield into being. 

Bookworm frowned, a puzzled look on her face. Laura couldn’t see a shield, but Bookworm clearly knew something was wrong. She reached out a hand and touched the air in front of her, running her fingers along an invisible wall that curved around her. Bookworm gave Laura a look of serious confusion. Then she laughed. 

“Do you think this will hold me for long?” she asked. 

“Long enough,” Laura said again. She turned for the door. 

“I feel no enmity towards you, Laura Hale,” Bookworm called after her, “but if your foolishness endangers his life, I will kill you myself.” 

***

The creature known as Bookworm ran her hands around the shield that held her, more than a little impressed. That amulet had been an intricate piece of work, though Bookworm wondered how much was intention and how much was pure instinct. It was made of two halves, with the shield and the connection to the pack, of which Adam was now a part. The amulet had let Laura tap directly into Adam’s power and channel it, creating a spell that she could never have managed on her own. 

Adam’s powers were growing daily. Bookworm had felt them grow. She’d felt his spells, his power spreading out over a large area as he drew in energy for the larger works. Only a couple of weeks ago, she’d felt the presence of his power while he performed some joyful spell. The air had laughed with his magic as he’d pulled on the power he needed from a huge area, so that no one point felt its effects too much. But she’d felt it, the tingle of him flowing along the invisible channels of magic. 

She felt his presence now in this spell that trapped her. Protection spells were his strongest skills at the moment. Bookworm knew that this shield spell would be a challenge, even to her. If she attacked it head on with pure force, that force would bounce back on her. She had to be subtle. The problem was that subtlety took time. 

Laura was behaving irrationally, choosing distrust of Bookworm over common sense. Without knowledge, all Laura could do was fumble blindly into a trap. And it would hurt Adam if she died. 

Bookworm sat down on the floor of her shop and closed her eyes. She let herself shift part-way, her hands becoming claws, lizard scales showing through the human skin. She scratched a symbol into the floor with the tip of one, sharp claw. No druidic pentagram, this, but an older symbol, from a language far more ancient. 

She lay her claws over the symbol, reaching out with her will for the powers of magic that flowed through everything, connecting all things: metal, wood, water, fire, stone. She drew that power to her now, breathing that power into her power and drawing in energy from all around her: the air, the city, the earth. The shield. 

She called to mind all she knew of Adam, whispering his many names in her mind, to draw the power from his spell. 

***

Stiles woke a little late and stumbled from the bed, swearing slightly as he fumbled for his clothes in the gloom. He must have fallen asleep without setting his alarm clock and now he stumbled to get dressed. He fought down yawns, feeling like he could have slept another few hours. Derek just rolled over in bed and buried himself deeper into the covers. 

Laura was nowhere to be seen; presumably she’d already gone for work. Stiles grabbed a piece of bread from a cupboard and headed out the door to do the same, eating the dry bread as he rushed along the streets. He was going to be late for work and he knew from experience that, “Sorry I’m late, I was having sex with my werewolf boyfriend,” didn’t count as a good enough excuse. 

He practically ran, fighting to find the energy for such exercise, and still arrived to find Amelia looking annoyed and pointedly staring at the clock. She normally seemed so cheerful, so seeing her looking this grumpy was a noticeable change. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I overslept.” 

Amelia said no more about it, directing him to do a restock of the wind chimes and dream catchers. He got on with his work, yawning his way through setting up ready for the first customers. Amelia worked at something at the counter, but Stiles noticed her looking at him more than once. 

“You tired?” she asked. 

“Yeah. I don’t know why. We didn’t get to bed that late.” 

“Have you tried doing magic this morning?” 

“No. Why?” 

“Try something now.” 

Confused and still sluggish, he raised his arm to call on the shield spell. It was one he’d been practicing often so that he’d be able to call it up quickly if he were ever in danger. He gathered his will as he’d done a thousand times before, expecting the silver light to shine over the ink lines of the tattoo. Instead, there was only a subtle glow. Amelia tossed a tea light at him. It slowed in the air, but kept moving, hitting him in the chest as though the shield hadn’t been there at all. 

Stiles slumped down onto the floor, suddenly exhausted from even that simple effort. Amelia hurried over. 

“It’s worse than I thought,” she said. 

“What’s happening?” he asked. 

“Someone’s been drawing energy from across the city all night. I noticed it this morning, but it doesn’t really affect me. For some reason, it’s hit you hard.” 

“Drawing energy?” Stiles echoed. His brain wasn’t working well enough for him to understand. 

“It’s something we all do when we cast a big spell. If you invoke the elements, or draw on the ley lines, or anything like that, you are pulling energy into yourself from the area around you. Most of the time, you wouldn’t even notice but if too many people draw at once or someone's performing a major piece of magic, it becomes harder, like finding water pressure dropping if you run all your faucets at once. What I don’t understand is why you’d be feeling it this badly.” 

Stiles didn’t have an explanation. He just wanted to sleep. It was like the jogging mishap all over again only this time, he hadn’t caused it. At least, he didn’t think he’d done anything to cause it. Unless he was casting spells in his sleep. 

“Maybe you should call your boyfriend and get him to take you home,” Amelia said. “I don’t think you’re in any condition to work today.” 

“That’s a good idea.” Stiles started to stand, making it about halfway upright before his legs staged a rebellion and he ended up flat on his ass. 

“I’ll call your boyfriend. What’s the number?” 

Stiles told her and she gave Derek a ring, telling him that Stiles was ill. She didn’t go into details about magic draining effects. Stiles just had to hope that this was something chicken soup and sleep could fix. 

The call made, Amelia came back to Stiles to fuss over him, feeling his forehead and checking his pulse. 

“Whatever happens,” she said, “don’t do anymore magic until we figure this out. I think someone might be targeting you specifically.” 

“But who? And how? And why?” 

“All good questions. For now, I’m going to try putting up a protective circle around you. With any luck, it should cut you off from whoever is drawing on your power.” 

Amelia helped him into the space in front of the counter, where she’d be able to get round him on all sides to make the circle. She collected some jars from the herb shelves, pouring a mixture of salt and mountain ash, along with a few other items Stiles wasn’t as familiar with, in a wide circle, pausing to pour more of the powder into the shapes of strange symbols. Stiles had seen this spell before, in the book Bookworm had given him. It cut off the inside of the circle from the outside and could be used to trap a magical force or, as in this case, protect from outside influence. 

Amelia closed the circle. 

***

Several blocks away, the shield spell vanished. 

It had been renewing itself all night, despite Bookworm’s efforts to drain it, but now it had vanished, cut off from the source of power. She was surprised it had taken Adam this long; after all, the necessary spell had been right there in the book she had given to him. She’d thought he was clever enough to work out what needed to be done as soon as he noticed the drain on his powers. 

Bookworm stood. Power coursed through her veins, magic waiting to be used. 

She breathed it out, whispering a name as she did so, letting the energy flow from her, drifting back into the world, to be carried in the gentle currents back towards Adam.


	30. Chapter 30

“I feel fine now,” Stiles said as Derek insisted on flagging down a cab so that Stiles wouldn’t have to walk back to the apartment. 

“But we still don’t know what happened. What if you feel weak again?” 

Stiles couldn’t argue with that. All he knew was that as soon as Amelia had broken the circle, he’d felt better. All his energy had suddenly rushed back to him. Her blocking spell must have been enough to interrupt whatever was causing the problem and at least Stiles knew what to do now if it happened again, even if he was still nervous about not knowing what had caused it in the first place. 

A cab pulled up and Derek helped Stiles into it, despite the fact that Stiles was once again perfectly capable of walking on his own. Derek could be such a mother hen at times. Stiles would be annoyed if it weren’t so sweet. 

At least he could enjoy his unexpected day off work now that he was feeling better. 

Derek gave directions to the cab driver and they set off through the traffic. Stiles fingered at the tattoo on his arm, wanting to test it out but afraid to do so. There was no point having magic if it could just fail on him with no obvious explanation as to why. 

“I should call Laura,” Derek said, “and get her to bring home some nourishing soup on her way back from work.” 

“Soup is not the answer to every human illness,” Stiles said. 

“Not even soup from the good place?” 

Stiles considered this. The chicken and vegetable soup was really good, and there was no reason why he shouldn’t let himself be treated given the way he’d been feeling. He decided not to argue. Derek got out his phone to call Laura, but got an answerphone. He left a brief message suggesting she get soup but didn’t go into details as to why. Stiles wasn’t sure if this was because the cab driver might overhear or because he didn’t want to worry her. 

They reached the apartment block and Stiles headed inside while Derek paid the cab driver. Bookworm was standing the lobby. 

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked. He’d been under the impression that Bookworm never left her shop. 

“Laura received a message yesterday,” Bookworm answered. 

“A message?” 

Bookworm glanced around. The lobby was fairly quiet, but a woman with a small toddler in tow was checking the mailboxes. She didn’t seem to be paying attention to them, but this was hardly the place to discuss issues of magic and it seemed Bookworm felt the same way. 

“You know the message,” Bookworm said. 

Stiles felt his strength leave him again, but this time it wasn’t from magical effects. He hadn’t been paying attention to the date and he should have been. There were back to school sales on in the shops and the teenagers who came into the magic shop had been complaining about the summer break nearly being over. Miles away in Beacon Hills, Scott and the younger version of himself would be preparing to go back to school. 

“Where is she?” Stiles asked. 

Derek walked into the lobby behind him and placed a hand on Stiles’s shoulder. His face was a calm mask but Stiles could feel those fingers tighten nervously. He must have been listening in on the conversation. 

“She’s gone,” Bookworm answered. 

“Alone?” Derek asked. “Why?” 

“She thinks she’s protecting you. She thinks that if you’re here, you can be safe and happy together.” 

“Not without her,” Derek said. “She’s my sister.” 

“I’m not the one you need to argue with.” 

Derek looked like he might say something else, but then he started moving. He hurried to the elevator, practically towing Stiles along. They didn’t even say goodbye or thanks to Bookworm. 

Up in the apartment, he dug around in the back of a closet for an old rucksack, tossing it to Stiles before hunting for another one for himself. 

“Pack lightly,” Derek said. “A few changes of clothes, whatever magic supplies you need, and find that passport you got for Christmas.” 

In less than ten minutes, they were heading out again. Stiles had his wand and the book of protective spells tucked into the rucksack. He had the bit of quartz crystal as well, so he could perform the tracking spell as soon as they arrived and find Laura straight away. Derek tried calling Laura again but she didn’t answer. Then, in the cab on the way to the airport, he was on the phone trying to book two plane tickets. 

Stiles let himself be swept along. It was hard to think of anything except the danger they were walking into. He kept seeing the memory of Laura’s half body, buried in the spiral of wolfsbane outside the ruins of the old Hale house. 

“We can’t be very far behind her,” Stiles said. He said it to comfort Derek, but also to remind himself that all wasn’t lost. They could still save her. They could still change the timeline. 

***

There was a werewolf around here that was going to try and kill her. That much Laura knew. She didn’t know the identity of the werewolf because Adam had always been reluctant to talk about it. A suspicion had lodged in her mind and she’d been thinking it over for the whole journey. It might explain why Adam had been so hesitant about giving them a name. 

She already knew of one werewolf in Beacon Hills. 

She knew she wouldn’t be able to think of anything else until she had checked out this possibility. Besides, she knew exactly where to find him, which she didn’t know if there was another, more mysterious, werewolf to track down. So Laura’s first stop on her arrival in town was the hospital, where her uncle, one of her only two surviving relatives, was under constant care. 

It had been years since she’d last seen him, unable to bear the thought of coming back to this town, unable to bear the costs of having him moved somewhere closer. She gave her name to the receptionist and a pleasant nurse directed her to a private room. 

“Don’t expect too much from him,” the nurse warned her. 

Laura nodded. The last time she’d seen Uncle Peter, he’d been lying unconscious on a bed, covered in burn scars and hooked up to so many machines that he was lost in a mess of tubing. The doctors had been astonished he was still alive, warning them that death could come at any time. They hadn’t known about werewolf healing, but even that had its limits. She wasn’t sure what to expect this time, but she went into his room holding onto the amulet Adam had given her, just in case. 

Peter was sitting in a wheelchair next to the window. His back was to her and he didn’t turn round, didn’t even make the slightest bit of movement to indicate that he was aware of her presence. It was a substantial improvement from six years ago, but she could understand why the nurse had warned her. Assuming this wasn’t a trap. If someone was trying to kill her, she couldn’t be too careful. 

She walked slowly across the room, still holding the amulet, ready to summon its power if she needed it. 

“Uncle Peter?” she asked. 

No movement. Not even a change in breath or heart rate. She came up beside him, looking at his face for the first time in six years. Burns still covered half the visible skin, leaving his face a ruined wreck. His eyes stared unseeing out the window, glassy and blank. That was somehow worse than the visible scars. She waved a hand in front of his face and he didn’t even blink. 

“Uncle Peter?” she asked again. No response. She touched his arm but he didn’t appear to feel it. 

He was breathing on his own, free from the tubes and machines of her last visit, but the figure in the chair still seemed half dead. 

She let her suspicion drift away. It was hard to imagine this man as any sort of threat. She felt guilty for even thinking it. After all, why would her uncle want to hurt her? She felt like she ought to apologise for having considered that Uncle Peter might be the one who was supposed to kill her. 

Now she needed to figure out who it could be. 

She grabbed a chair and sat down so she could look him in the eye. She needed to figure things through and she might as well do this here, out loud. Maybe hearing a friendly voice would help him somehow, bring him back to himself and help his healing kick in. After all, people claimed that comatose patients could sometimes recognise family members talking to them. 

“Hi, Uncle Peter. Long time no see. So apparently someone is going to try and kill me. I got a message meant to lure me back here and I need to be careful because I’ve had it on pretty good information that I might end up murdered.” 

She was fidgeting with the amulet as she talked, thinking about Adam and his warnings, wondering if she should call him and try to get more information. But as soon as he knew where she was, he’d try to follow. She caught a glint of silver in Peter’s eye, the amulet reflected there. She looked down and saw that the triskele symbol was glowing faintly. The side of the amulet that was meant to provide a mystical connection to the pack was shining silver, like when Adam cast one of his spells. She was here trying to reach one of her family and maybe the magic was tapping into that need. 

She lifted the amulet over her head and held it out towards Peter. His eyes shifted. They still looked blank, but his pupils noticeably moved towards the amulet. She moved the amulet back and forth and his eyes followed it, tracking the lighted spirals. 

A small flare of hope started inside her. Maybe she didn’t have to face this alone. 

“Uncle Peter, can you hear me?” There was no change in his stance, no movement in response, but some part of her, resonating with the power of the amulet, knew that the answer was yes. 

***

Derek had some heated words with the ticket agent, trying to get the quickest flight. At one point, Stiles had to drag him to one side and calm him down before the poor woman called security to get him kicked out of the airport. Or possibly arrested, after Derek made some rather threatening comments about how to open up spaces on earlier flights. In the end, they got tickets that meant they’d have to wait eight hours to get a flight, because the alternatives would involve transfers and layovers and take even longer. It could have been a lot worse, but it was still eight hours of waiting in an airport with a frantic Derek. He’d tried calling Laura twice more but she was clearly avoiding his calls. 

“Look, I know where you’ve gone,” Derek said onto her answerphone, “so you’d better call me back to let me know you’re still alive.” 

She responded with a text message: _Still alive. Don’t follow me. Keep Adam away from here._

Derek looked like he might crush his phone from sheer frustration. 

“I’m going to kill her myself when we find her.” 

“Derek, indoor voice,” Stiles said, aware of the worried looks Derek was getting from the other people in the airport. 

“I still don’t understand why she’d go alone. She knows the danger.” 

“I don’t know,” Stiles said. Bookworm’s words about wanting to keep them safe didn’t make sense when she knew that she was the one who was going to get hurt. By blundering into Beacon Hills alone, she was just making it easier for history to repeat itself. 

Stiles kept running his fingers over the tattoo of the shield. She had his magic. Hopefully it would be enough to keep her safe until they got there. 

***

Well, Harris was a bust. With the local phone book and the name that Adam had mentioned on the fire’s anniversary, Laura had been able to track down the person he’d been talking about, a science teacher at the high school. She’d hoped he would give her something useful about the werewolf who’d lured her here. He’d given her plenty to think about, but all of it around what had happened six years ago. 

He’d practically wet himself in terror when she’d told him her name and it hadn’t taken much prodding for him to spill his guts, fear and shame helping the secrets pour out. He’d just been talking to a girl, he claimed. He hadn’t imagined she’d use the information he gave her. He didn’t know that the girl would burn down a house with a family trapped inside. 

Adam had said there would be justice, that this guy would lead the police to the ones responsible. She would kick that off by going to the police station first thing in the morning and telling them everything he’d told her. 

For now, she needed to find somewhere secure to stay the night. She walked across the preserve, cutting through the once-familiar woods towards the town. She’d find a motel or something and hope she could use the amulet to keep away any potential murderers. And then she’d call Derek. 

From the sound of his voicemails, he was mad as hell with her right now but maybe if she explained about Bookworm and Adam, he’d understand and agree to keep Adam away. A werewolf she could handle. A dragon with ulterior motives was another matter entirely. 

She strode through the dark woods, letting her eyes shift to give her a better view through the darkness. She wasn’t entirely sure that she was heading in the right direction anymore. These woods had once been so familiar that she could have found her way through them blindfolded. Not anymore and the clouds had come over, threatening rain, so she couldn’t check her direction against the stars. 

She heard movement through the trees and spun to face it, hand already on the amulet. Much as she wanted to believe it was a deer of something equally innocent, she picked up a werewolf scent on the wind. 

She called up the shield inside her mind, waiting for an attack, for some sign of this other werewolf. The amulet shed its silver glow into the darkness. Her hands shifted into claws. She could shift the rest of her in a heartbeat if necessary. She was ready for whatever this werewolf had planned. 

Nothing happened. 

There was still someone there, a shape in the darkness, but he wasn’t attacking. He wasn’t making any threatening move. He wasn’t even trying to hide from her. 

She kept the shield up, aware that this could all be a trap, but she moved through the trees towards him until she could get a clear view. It was Peter. He looked as bad as he had back in the hospital, scar tissue marring his face, eyes staring at nothing. He took a stumbling, blind step in her direction. 

“Uncle Peter?” she asked, moving towards him. His eyes flickered down to the amulet around her neck. He didn’t seem to see her, but he saw that and through its magic, he knew she was here. Her uncle was still inside there somewhere. Given what he’d looked like this morning in the hospital, this was astonishing progress. It had to be something to do with the amulet’s power. Maybe if she could get through to him, he’d be able to help her against whoever was trying to kill her. 

She lifted the amulet over her neck and took a careful step towards him. His eyes were still fixed on the glowing lines in the wood. She held the amulet out with both hands on the cord, opening the loop. Her thoughts were of pack as she lowered the cord over his head. If she could reach him, maybe he could heal. Maybe he could be whole again and the pack would have another member. 

She let the amulet hang around his neck, but it was still shining silver. She touched the wooden disc gently. 

“Uncle Peter? Can you hear me?” 

His eyes flickered up and met hers. An instant later, pain tore across her stomach.


	31. Chapter 31

Unfortunately, Beacon Hills didn’t have an airport, so they still had a way to go after their flight landed. Derek was almost unbearable by this point, frantic with worry. He hadn’t slept at all on the flight, which probably wasn’t helping his temper and Stiles didn’t think he’d eaten since breakfast yesterday. There had been no word from Laura, despite more angry phone calls. Stiles was only keeping control of his own fear because of the need to keep Derek calm. He looked like he could snap at any moment. 

That proved to be an accurate assessment of Derek’s mental state when Derek was politely but firmly asked to leave after losing his temper with the entirety of the ridiculously long queue at the car hire kiosk. Stiles could have stayed in the queue by himself, but he didn’t trust Derek on his own right now. Derek was one misspoken word away from throwing a random person through a solid wall. Stiles had seen Derek angry before and seen him worried, but never anything like this. So Stiles hurried out of the airport after Derek, pausing only to buy a couple of soggy pastries from the one coffee shop that was currently open. 

He found Derek waiting impatiently in the darkness just outside the main doors. Derek glared at the pastries as though they were responsible for the delay to the journey. 

“You need to eat something,” Stiles said. “You can’t live off anger alone.” 

Derek glared at him some more, than he grabbed one of the pastries and tore chunks out of it with his teeth, barely pausing to chew. Stiles wanted to comfort him, saying that Laura knew how to look after herself, but he kept picturing her dead body and he couldn’t quite bring himself to say the words. 

Derek called up directory enquiries and learned that there wasn’t another rental car place nearby, but there was a car dealership a little way from the airport selling new and second-hand cars. Derek set off at a walk, Stiles following in his wake. The horizon was beginning to lighten when they arrived but the place seemed almost deserted. Stiles was just wondering how long they’d have to wait for it to open when someone drove up and parked in a bay marked as staff only. 

“Sorry, we don’t open for another hour,” the guy said, starting to unlock the front door. 

“You open now,” Derek answered, shoving at the door, and the unfortunate salesman, with enough force to nearly knock the guy on his ass. Stiles hurried in behind Derek. 

“Derek,” he said quietly, “let’s try not to get arrested, OK? You won’t help Laura if you’re in jail.” 

Derek shot Stiles a glare, but he managed to look calmer when he turned back to the frightened staff member. 

“I’m going to buy a car,” Derek said. “Right now.”

The salesman still seemed scared, but he brightened up at the prospect of an immediate sale. 

“Do you know what make and model you’re after?” he asked. 

Meanwhile, Stiles had noticed something out of the corner of his eye. He turned and stared back through the glass doors at the parking lot, where a sleek, black car was parked. 

“That one,” Stiles said, and pointed at the Camaro. Derek leaned in to Stiles. 

“I don’t need a car that flashy,” Derek whispered. 

Stiles turned to look him in the eye, “Believe me, that’s the car you buy. And you want something fast, right?” 

Derek looked at the car, then back at Stiles. He apparently decided not to argue, because he turned back to the salesman. 

“I’ll take that car,” he said. 

“OK,” the salesman said. “We’ll need to go over the contract and talk about the options. Do you want to take a test drive first?” 

“No,” Derek said, grabbing the man’s shirt and pulling him closer. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell me the best possible price that you can give me for that car and believe me, I’ll know if you’re lying. Then I’m going to fill out the paperwork and you are going to hand me the keys and I will be driving out of here in less than ten minutes. Do you understand me?” 

Derek’s eyes shone blue and the salesman looked like he might faint or wet his pants or both at the same time. He nodded mutely. 

Ten minutes later, Stiles sat in the passenger seat of the Camaro while Derek roared away more than a little over the speed limit. 

“Well there go my college savings,” Derek muttered. Stiles didn’t tell him that he’d seen no sign of Derek going to college. 

Derek didn't seem to mind having the Camaro as he floored the gas pedal. Stiles watched the dark scenery race by and hoped that they didn’t get pulled over for speeding. That was not the way he wanted to confront his dad with the situation. 

***

Derek parked up near the edge of the Beacon Hills preserve and glared impatiently while Stiles rummaged in his rucksack for the quartz crystal and a piece of string to tie around it. He tucked his wand into his jacket pocket while he was at it, just in case he needed it. His emotions were all over the place, not helped by Derek looming, so it took him some time to calm his thoughts and channel the energy of the tracking spell towards finding Laura. He filled the crystal with thoughts of her: the way she hugged him, her reading from that book, warm milk after nightmares, the ridiculous holiday feasts, her laughing beneath his snow storm. He let those images fill him and then he lifted the crystal on its string, watching it pull out towards the woods. 

Derek started walking without a word. 

“She’s got to be close,” Stiles said, “for it to pull out this much.” He was going by his memories of trying the spell to find Derek. 

Derek didn’t answer. He walked into the woods in the direction that the crystal pointed, pushing through bushes and undergrowth that happened to be in his way. Every so often, he would pause and wait for Stiles to catch up. Stiles had spent a lot of time hurrying through these woods but it didn’t make it any easier to avoid tripping roots, obstructive branches and sprawling undergrowth. 

After a few minutes, Derek paused. He tilted his head back, sniffing at the air. 

“Have you picked up her scent?” Stiles asked. 

Derek didn’t answer. He just started running. Stiles swore under his breath and hurried after him, unable to keep up. He still had the crystal, following the course it pointed, hoping that, any moment now, he would emerge from the trees and see Derek and Laura standing in front of him, alive and safe. 

He did emerge from the trees, stepping into a clearer area. He did see Derek and Laura, but she was anything but safe. The smell of blood was strong, even to human senses. He brought a hand up to his face, to stop vomit or a sob, he wasn’t sure. Derek was crouching on the ground beside the ripped apart remains of his older sister. 

Derek didn't move. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t even cry. He just crouched there, staring at his sister’s body as though frozen. 

They were too late. 

That thought echoed around Stiles’s head until there was no room for any other thought. They were too late and she’d died. 

Why the hell had this happened? He’d warned her about the danger. He’d told her that she’d die. What could possibly have driven her to come back here alone when she’d known that he could tell her things that would keep her alive? Why? 

Stiles wanted to scream at Laura, to demand answers from her dead body, to ask why she hadn’t told him when she’d received the message. He could have helped her if she’d let him and he was furious at her for not letting him because it was easier than being furious at himself. He knew though that he was the one to blame for this really. That treacherous thought whispered in the back of his mind, telling him that he could have prevented this if he hadn’t been so concerned with keeping secrets. 

Stiles took a few stumbling steps back, as though walking away from this site could erase the truth of it from his mind and from his world. His foot knocked against something and he looked down, seeing a small object of white plastic on the ground. He bent and picked up the inhaler. Scott’s inhaler. He closed his fist around it. 

“It’s all happening again,” he whispered, more to himself than to Derek. 

At the words, Derek looked away from his sister’s half-body, he glared up at Stiles. His face was pale with shock, but his eyes were bright with anger. With hatred. 

“I’m going to give my sister a proper burial,” Derek said. “Then you are going to tell me everything you know about who did this.” 

Stiles swallowed, fighting down tears, both at the sight on the ground and at the fact that Derek was looking at him in this way. He nodded. 

“OK,” he said, “but-“ 

Derek cut him off, “No buts. No secrets. No half-truths and part-tales. You are going to tell me everything.” 

“I will. I promise.” Stiles meant it, but he couldn’t help the thought that Derek, as angry as he was now, would charge straight for Peter and get himself killed. “It’s just that it took a lot of us to kill him last time. You and Scott, the hunters, hell, even Jackson. I know you want to kill him but if you go after him now, like this, you’re the one who’ll die. I’ll tell you everything I know about who he is and how we stopped him, but I need you to promise me that you won’t go after him until we have a plan. I mean it, Derek. I will help you kill him, but I won’t let you get yourself killed.” 

If anything, Derek looked angrier. Then he nodded. 

“I’m going to kill him,” Derek said. “If we need a plan to do that, then we need a plan.” 

Derek put his arms around Laura’s body and stood up, cradling her to his chest. He started walking through the woods. Stiles followed after him. 

Only then did Stiles let himself cry. 

***

Derek carried Laura’s body back to the ruins of the Hale house. He lay her down gently on the earth at the edge of the clearing. Then he started digging with his bare hands. Stiles bent down to help him, but Derek looked up and stopped him. 

“Do you know what wolfsbane plants look like?” he asked. 

“Of course.” 

“It grows where werewolves have died. There should be a lot of it around here. I want to mark the grave properly, but I can’t touch that stuff for long.” 

Stiles nodded. He knew what Derek wanted. He’d already seen it once. 

“You want to bury her in a spiral.” 

Derek nodded. Stiles set out to look for the flowers. Derek had been right, there were plenty, with long, rope-like roots stretching out under the earth. Stiles dug up one of the plants, carefully prising through the dirt to uncover inch after inch, foot after foot of the long roots. He needed several plants, knotting the roots together to make one long thread. 

When he had enough, he went back to Derek and the hole he was finishing. 

Stiles set to work burying plant while Derek buried the body. No more words passed between them until they’d finished. Stiles didn’t want any more of Derek’s anger directed at him, even though he knew he probably deserved it. 

When they were done, Derek moved away from the grave, made poisonous to him by Stiles’s handiwork. He wondered how Derek had done this last time, since he couldn’t handle wolfsbane for long without ill-effects. Maybe he’d used gloves. 

Another thought kept prodding at the back of his mind. Everything he’d tried to alter had happened exactly the way he’d remembered it. 

“This shouldn’t have happened,” Stiles said at last. “I wanted to change this but it’s all happening the same way. This is how we found her, me and Scott, back when we thought you’d killed her.” He pulled the inhaler from his pocket, looking at it. “We came back into the woods the day after he got bit, the day after she died, today, looking for this.” 

He looked back towards Derek, seeing the details he hadn’t really been aware of before, the leather jacket Derek was wearing. He’d noticed that jacket, noticed how Derek had looked in it. 

“Today is the day I first met you,” Stiles said. “The other me, I mean.” 

“And your friend Scott, he was bitten by the werewolf who killed Laura?” 

“Yeah. Only a few hours after he killed her.” 

“And he’ll help me get revenge?” 

“Yeah, he agreed to help you when you taught him to control his abilities and kept him from ripping Allison to shreds on his first full moon.” 

“Then let’s go find him. And you. Where will you two be?” 

“Back near where we found Laura. So we’re just going to walk up to me like this?” 

Derek started walking. Once again, Stiles was forced to hurry to keep up. 

“You’re going to have to explain things to them at some point,” Derek said, “and you’re going to have to explain things to me now. You might as well do both at the same time.” 

“OK, but fair warning, the other me will probably have a major freak out because right now he’s only joking about the existence of werewolves and if we throw time travel into the mix at the same time, he’ll probably lose it.” 

It was weird to be talking about himself in the third person, but he supposed that was the way it was going to be now. The younger version of him would be just that: him. The younger version was Stiles. He was Adam now. 

As they walked, he felt the effects of the past day catching up with him. He’d barely slept on the flight and he’d spent far too much time trying to keep up with an angry werewolf. A wave of dizziness came over him. 

“Derek,” he called out, since Derek was a long way ahead of him now. 

Derek turned to look at him. He paled. 

“Adam, what’s happening?” he asked, hurrying back. 

Stiles frowned, confused, unsure why Derek would act this freaked out by a dizzy spell. Then Scott’s inhaler slipped through his fingers and bounced on the ground. It had fallen _through_ his closed fist. He looked down now and could see the ground through his semi-transparent hand. 

For a long time after arriving in New York, Stiles had wondered what would happen if he changed his timeline. He’d imagined what it would be like to fade away if he caused some paradox that erased the events of his time travel. Now he knew. 

He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out his wand. He tried to draw on its power, reaching for the magic to try to make himself real, even if just for a little while. The symbols glowed gold on the wand, but he felt fainter, weaker. Less real. Darkness was creeping in at the edges of his vision. 

“Adam?” Derek looked frantic. His voice sounded like it was coming from a long way away. He reached out to grab Stiles’s hand, perhaps trying to hold him here, but his fingers passed through. Stiles was as substantial as air. 

Stiles wasn’t sure how long he had. There were things that needed to be said while he still had a chance. Important things that Derek needed to hear. 

“I love you,” he said, rushing the words out. “Protect Scott. Don’t let us awaken the nematon and if we do then kill me before anyone else gets killed. Peter…” 

The wand slipped from his fingers onto the ground. 

Darkness swallowed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone starts throwing heavy objects at me, remembering that this story is first in a trilogy. I'm not sure if that makes it better or worse.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that was a lot of comments on the last chapter. They were fairly split between, "I knew this was going to happen," and, "I can't believe that just happened." It was always my intention with this story to create a time-travel scenario where not only does nothing change, but the fact that Stiles was there actually _causes_ the cannon events. If Stiles hadn't been there, all the suspicions with Bookworm wouldn't have happened and she would have come back with Derek. In fact, the reason she didn't tell Derek right away was because he was having sex with Stiles and she didn't want to interrupt. I wanted to use this story to explain a couple of points that never quite made sense to me. If Scott had such a powerful reaction to just being the same car as the wolfsbane, how come Derek could carefully bury it in a spiral? And we're told that Laura talked to Harris about the fire, but it's never explained how she knew to go to him. I wanted to work those things in so that this story formed a framework for Laura and Derek's actions. 
> 
> I just made sure to have Stiles keep talking about changing the past and alternate timelines to keep it from being too obvious where I was going. :)

Bookworm was behind the counter of her shop, selling a couple of mythology books to the young kitsune, Noshiko’s daughter. She felt the change like a ripple of power flowing through the world and she had to grip the edge of the counter to stay upright. He was gone. 

She’d been connected to Adam since she’d first read his spirit, that connection heightened with her recent spell to counter Laura’s shield, but now that connection was severed. There was just emptiness where his magic had been. 

“Are you alright?” Kira asked. 

“I need you to leave now,” Bookworm answered. 

“Are you sure? Should I call a doctor or something?” 

“No. Just leave. I’m not ill.” 

Kira hesitated, but she gathered up her books and left. Bookworm walked over to the door once she’d gone and she turned around the closed sign, snapping the lock shut. She walked slowly back to the counter and the books shelved behind it. She walked steadily. There was nothing physically wrong with her after all. 

She reached for the novel, the book he’d traded her at Christmas, opening it to a random page. She let her eyes wander over the page, feeling for the traces of his spirit left on the words, the echoes of a soul broken but on the road to healing, filled with potential. Those whispers caught on the pages couldn’t feel the empty void left by his vanishing. 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. He was supposed to be the ouroboros, the closed circle. He was supposed to be the new Merlin. 

She sank down behind the counter and began to cry. 

***

Derek stared at the empty air where Adam had been. He just sort of… faded. Now all that was left was a pile of stuff on the ground. His clothes and rucksack, his wand, even that inhaler. Derek crouched down in front of the pile, prodding at the items. Adam’s shoes weren’t here, nor was his watch. The items he’d had with him when he’d arrived in New York all those months ago had vanished with him. Everything he’d bought since he’d arrived was still here. 

They’d watched Back To The Future together as a date night movie because it had seemed appropriate. At the scene where Marty had started to fade, Adam had tucked himself up against Derek’s side and Derek had wondered whether that could happen. He’d never imagined it actually would. 

He lifted up Adam’s t-shirt, still warm from his skin, still carrying his scent. Derek brought the shirt to his face and breathed in the memory of him. 

He couldn’t cope with this. Laura was dead. He couldn’t lose Adam too. 

He heard a howl through the trees, a human sound but one that struck him to the core and caused a spark of hope. But only for a second. Only until he realised what that sound actually was. That wasn’t Adam howling, but the younger version of him, Stiles as he’d been. He heard the laughter that followed the howl, the voices joking about lycanthropy but not actually believing it. Stiles and his friend, looking for the inhaler. 

Derek set the shirt down and picked up the inhaler. He walked towards the voices. 

It took all his strength not to run over there, to grab that guy and kiss him. He knew he couldn’t. The teenager in the woods had never met him before, didn’t even know that werewolves were real yet. If Derek tried to tell him about Adam, about the future, he would think he was insane. Derek needed to think this through, he needed to figure things out before he said anything. He needed to work out what had just happened here. 

Was Adam dead? Was he gone forever? Had something changed after all and wiped him from the timeline? 

Derek needed to get these kids out of here so he could call the only person who might possibly have any answers. There would be time later to tell them what they needed to know, when he had things figured out in his head. When he’d worked out a way to explain it that they’d believe. 

He walked from between the trees, staring at this kid who wasn’t Adam, who might never be Adam but who looked and sounded and smelled so much like him. 

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked, “Huh? This is private property.” 

A couple of minutes, a short exchange and the return of an inhaler later and the two of them were walking away. Derek returned to the pile of items that was all that was left of Adam. He could go after Stiles. He could show him these things, with the fake passport and things they’d had made for Adam. Maybe he’d believe him. Maybe he could get Adam back in that nervous-looking kid. 

Or maybe he would fade away into the past and Derek would lose him again. He didn’t think he could survive that. 

Derek pulled his phone out and hunted for Bookworm’s number. When she answered, her voice was unsteady. 

“Hello?” she said. 

“Bookworm, it’s Derek Hale. He’s gone. He just vanished right in front of me.” 

“I know. I felt it happen.” 

“But what happened? Is he dead? What does this mean?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Don’t play games with me, Bookworm! My sister is dead and my boyfriend has vanished and I don’t care how powerful you are because I cannot deal with mind games right now!” 

“He should have continued on until he reached the point he went back in time,” Bookworm said, “closing the circle. Now… I don’t know what’s happened.” 

“Is Adam dead?” Derek asked again. 

There came a faint sob from the other end of the phone line and that little noise was enough to shatter what fragile pieces of hope remained inside Derek. He sank down onto the forest floor and gave into grief when Bookworm gave the most painful answer possible: 

“I don’t know.” 

***

Derek gathered up Adam’s things, everything except the wand. He couldn’t pick that up. But he couldn’t leave it here where anyone might stumble over it. He buried it as best he could, scraping up loose dirt and throwing it over the wand. It wasn’t much of a hiding place, but it was better than nothing. He carried the rucksack, the clothes and everything else back into the wreckage of the Hale house. 

Was it only two days ago that he and Adam had gone to the movies together? It felt like a lifetime. Now he sat within sight of his sister’s grave, holding a few scraps of clothing that were all that was left of the man he loved, the man he’d invited to be part of his pack. 

Derek was alone now. Adam was gone. His sister was gone. There was just him, left with a promise of vengeance and far too many questions. Why had Laura chosen to come here alone, knowing the danger? And what had happened to her amulet? She’d worn that thing every day since Adam had given it to her, so why would she not have it when she was facing a potential killer? Derek couldn’t help feeling that if he could find that amulet, he’d find some answers. 

But it wouldn’t bring Laura back. Or Adam. 

He knew that Adam was still out there, at least in a way, in the shape of that teenager who didn’t even know him yet. Stiles wasn’t Adam, but he might be. In the future. 

But not in the past. 

In the dark ruin of his former home, Derek made himself that promise. He hadn’t managed to save Laura, but he would save Stiles. If Stiles never went back in time, he would never have become Adam and he’d never have vanished. So Derek had to make sure that never happened. Somehow, he would keep Stiles from going back to New York. There was still a chance to change things. 

He could alter the timeline. He didn’t know enough about the future to have a good plan about how, but he had some fragments he could use. He knew that Adam went back in time because of picking up a wand in the woods, so he’d make sure Stiles wouldn’t want to come into these woods. If Stiles was afraid to come near here, he would never pick up that bit of wood. Derek knew that he and Adam had been friends in the future. Which meant Stiles couldn’t be. He would change things by keeping Stiles away from him. His life was going to be full of dangers so he would keep Stiles safe by keeping him away. He would make Stiles hate him. 

Even if it broke his heart to do so. 

 

**End of A Little Lost**

**To be continued in So Near and Yet So Far**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with this story. It will be continued soon - I won't keep you waiting long for part two.


End file.
